Circles of Hell
by Lillz
Summary: Post Justice. now AU we follow Dr. Rush's capture by the owners of the crashed vessel, as his situation goes from bad to much, much worse. Chapter 7- the Finale. Rush makes his bid for freedom.
1. Awakening

APOLOGIES TO THOSE WHO HAVE ME ON ALERT: I have just had fun and games getting my new fic uploaded, so you may have received several emails about this. HUGE apologies. Fingers crossed this is the last time…

* * *

Thank you all so very much for the fantastic responses I received for 'Reflection'. I'm well chuffed! :) there were many comments, which I hope I have answered satisfactorily, and many questions that I have been somewhat evasive about. This story will begin answering some of those.

This story begins after the aliens have picked him up; he's captive, but as yet has no clue as to what is going on

As forewarned, there is a considerable amount of swearing (this is Rush, after all), and I hope I've done ok in capturing his personality, bearing in mind that at the moment he's groggy and confused. Any suggestions, tips or ideas would be greatly appreciated, as is any critique, comments, merits and chocolate. Especially the last. I have much of the story loosely planned out, so, fingers crossed, there will be fairly regular updates.

If ya should spot any spelling, feel free to slap me with them, just bear in mind that I'm a UK'er, and we have different English to American English! :-p

Here's to you, my wonderful readers. Chapter One. Kudos to the plot bunny!

Oh, and not mine. Nope, I checked. It's not :(

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That truly was the oddest sensation, and yet, strangely unsettling in it's familiarity. Forcing open gritty eyes didn't help alleviate his sense of disorientation; rather, 'sight' bought with it an unaccustomed well of panic; he couldn't see.

_Not happening_

Closing his eyes again, he fought to calm his breathing, and as he concentrated on his 'self' he became aware of a myriad of distant aches that swelled instantly into pain as he unwillingly focused on them. Like a sore tooth, one couldn't help but wiggle it.

_Now there's an analogy. What do we do when people start needing dental work? Pliers? String and doors?_

The self distraction was enough to take the edge off, make it bearable enough to begin a mental inspection, starting with the fact that his face seemed to be stuck to the floor and he had some _serious_ cramping going on in his shoulders. A physical attempt to relieve said cramps made the muscles scream; instant, instinctive tensing triggered a domino effect as he arched, drawing his legs close, contracting abdominal and pectoral muscles as he desperately tried to alleviate the growing agony, tried to flinch away from the pain, unavoidably succeeding only in making things worse.

Too much worse.

Consciousness returned some time later, the mutinous, treacherous ache drawing him like an anti-siren from the blissful oblivion he had fallen into.

_Stupid pillock_

He wouldn't be doing that again. God, even his hair hurt. He'd always thought that was just an expression made up by people without the intelligence to create a suitable comparative verbalisation for their physical predicament. Apparently, he'd been wrong. _I guess it has to happen every now and again_.

His hands were tightly bound behind his back. Obviously. _Any more bright ideas, genius?_ Sudden relief flooded him, drowning out all else; he _could _see, it had simply been too dark to make much sense of his surroundings. His convulsive movements had done some good; he had shifted enough that he could now see a dull, sickly green strip light embedded in the wall, picking out in darker shadow what appeared to be a door frame.

So, a room? _Congrats, Sherlock, A* for stating the bloody obvious_. A room (ignoring the condescending voice, which bizarrely enough sounded a lot like Colonel Young- _That man is _not_ being the voice of my conscience. Maybe it's the petulance that's so reminiscent…)_, small, apparently cuboid. A peculiar odour hung in the air, stagnant, sulphuric, tingling his nasal passage as he inhaled. It was damp and a little on the cold side for his liking, but then he was laying on a metal floor. _Speaking of…_ he frowned. They'd taken his desert jacket. He'd liked that jacket. And his boots. _Bastards_. There was no chance his cap was around anywhere, and what about his equipment? Both Earth and Ancient tech, not to mention the alien devices he'd repaired. Actually, probably _best_ not to mention that. A shiver turned into another full body contraction, and he struggled to remain conscious. It passed. If they had his Ancient tech… admittedly, it only amounted to a couple of scanners and the real life version of the sonic screwdriver (_Dr Who, eat ye heart out)_, but they were undoubtedly more advanced than their own technology. The tools he'd salvaged from the wrecked craft were testimony to that. This could be bad, and the potential fallout made his blood run cold, adrenaline flooding his veins like ice water.

_Not good._

The sensation _–vibration-_ was scratching at the corners of this thoughts again, pushing his fears aside in its irritating insistence; suddenly his mind put two and two together, and he knew what it reminded him of, no; what it_ was_. They were all so used to it now, it had become such a part of their lives, that no one noticed anymore, except in unusual circumstances, like when one happened to be leaning against an external bulkhead. Or lying on the floor.

_Oh God_

The thrum of power through a ship's hull.

_Finally, firing on all cylinders, Nicky? Took ye long enough..._

_Shut it._

Which of course beggared the questions: where the hell in the galaxy was he, where were they going, and, more importantly, what did they want with him? _Shit._

He suddenly felt so tired. He'd been so _close..._

As the 'fight or flight' mindset fled, he became aware of something else. With no way to burn it off, the final effect of the adrenaline quickly made itself known; his stomach clenched beyond his ability to prevent and he heaved, dryly, bringing up nothing but bile. _And carrots. Without fail, there's always carrots..._

He drifted a while, body definitely not appreciating having extra abuse hurled upon it, hazy mind flitting here and there, constantly circling back to his current predicament. He'd nearly made it off-world. Another day, and none of this would have happened; he'd have been travelling a swift path through the Stargate network, in hot pursuit of _Destiny._

_One more damn day! Jesus Christ, was it too much to ask??_

Yes, apparently. And he'd so been looking forward to scaring the shit out of Young.

They hadn't been happy to find him in the wreck of the downed vessel. _Understatement. _Honest to God, he had actually expected to die, there and then. When one fired, he truly thought he had. Obviously, he'd been wrong about that, too. _Better not be setting a precedent here, Nick._

_Like hell_

Not bothering to try shifting to a more comfortable position, knowing there wasn't one, he settled with moving his head in an attempt to relieve his stiff neck. Well, that was the plan. It took less than a flash of thought for him to realise that the reason he was still (and given his little fit earlier, that in itself was pretty surprising) stuck to the floor was because the side of his face was covered in dried (and freshly dried) blood. It certainly explained why his left eye felt particularly crusty, and why his head itched something fierce. (where it didn't throb, anyway)

_So, what? You shoot me _and_ wallop me one? Seriously, overkill, anyone? _Good grief, but that was just plain ridiculous.

_Tossers._

Taller than the average human, broad at the shoulder, the body seemed bisected below the lower limbs, the general appearance suggestive of an insectoid race. _Head, thorax, abdomen_. The six limbs helped that theory along quite nicely. Four arms, two set below and slightly behind the others, and two legs, hinged slightly differently to normal bi-ped's; they reminded him of powerstriders. They exuded the sense of incredible speed. _No outrunning, then?_

He couldn't be entirely sure _what_ they were, though, until he had chance to see one without the armour which seemed to be moulded to their form in a full body suit. The head itself was entirely encased by an opaque dome-like hood, reaching nearly from shoulder to shoulder. _Buzz Lightyear to Woody._

_Eli would appreciate that..._

He swallowed, pushed aside bleak thoughts. _Focus. Stay alive. Plan._

The entire physique was extremely intimidating, he thought sourly. Not that they needed the physical show; their attitude was more than enough. External motion sensors had picked up their approach, the faint beeping had roused him from a troubled sleep. He didn't know how they'd arrived, just knew they were there. Gingerly reaching past a corpse (fortunately, the armour kept even the smell inside, which was just as well, 'cause it was too damn cold to sleep outside at night), he'd switched it off, and gone to the hatch to catch a glimpse of them. Same species. That had been a relief. Still, he'd been nervous; he'd not moved the dead, in case their race took offence to such acts (he was belligerent, not stupid) and initiated some impressive repairs (if he might say so himself. Which he did). Had assumed they would be pleased. Wrong again. _Damn it!_ Their very stance was anger made manifest. He hadn't needed to know a single word in their language in order to recognise the tone which, added to the posture, was downright terrifying.

Having calmly dropped to his knees before their raised weapons and vocal demands, he'd lifted his hands in a placatory manner, refusing to show just how scared he was. He'd done _nothing._

Shoot first, question later.

_Bollox. And he was stuck with them._

Maybe it was too soon to judge, but they seemed to be a race that placed great importance in military strength and show of force. Of course, his opinion could be somewhat biased. Impressive weaponry, both personal and what he'd discovered attached to the ship. Lethal. Plasma tech, if he was any judge. Indubitably equally impressive armament, again, both what they wore and what the vessel was equipped with. Mutli phasic shielding, from all appearances; a tad melodramatic for what was surely only a sub-orbital runner. He wouldn't want to run up against a carrier, no mistake. They weren't big on aesthetics; the wrecked craft's design was minimalistic, though efficient, uniform in internal colour, and conservative on space. Really, if that didn't scream 'military' nothing did. This was a race that really invested in their offensive and defensive technologies.

With a sigh, he wondered what the time was, wishing he could see his watch. Actually, he'd settle for just _feeling _it. With a frown, he carefully rubbed his wrists together; gone. His gut twisted in horror as he realised that wasn't the only thing missing. They'd taken his ring. Sickened, his temper flared misty red.

He wasn't aware that he was screaming vile curses at the impassive door until his throat grew sore and his voice raspy, broken. Trembling, he fell back, choking down air in short, desperate gasps.

Futile. They did not deign to answer.

Spent, exhausted, he lay limp, shivering, shocked.

There was nothing to do but wait.


	2. Clarity

Thanks to everyone who took time to review chapter one, and also thanks to everyone who has been reading. I hope I can convince some more of you to review, but hey! I'm real happy this is being read. It makes me smile :) see? Apologies to Tigerscribbles, who pegged the first review of this story, but lost it when I replaced the chapter. Tiger gave me a lovely little gem, I hope you spot it!

I have the impression, personally, that Nicholas isn't taking his situation quite seriously enough at the outset of this chapter, and I hope that comes across. He _is_ a genius; perhaps he's under the impression that he can think his way out of this mess. Good luck with that, is all I can say.

Anyway, here's chapter two. I hope you like it! It's a bit shorter than I wanted, but it was a good place to stop. Sorry it took so long, I knew what I wanted, but it just didn't wanna play nice; took ages to get it out, I've spent the last day tweaking it, and I finally thought 'stop! Just post the damn thing!' still not completely happy with it, but i know that if i keep fiddling it'll fall apart

Sorry Cat4444- I can't reply to you. It say's PM feature is disabled? Thanks for the review, muchly appreciated :)

More swearing. Not mine. Apart from any errors. And the Bugs.

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_Are you asking me out?_

_…Nae._

_No?_

_Weell, trying. Kinda. Na' really. Err…_

_I would say yes if you did._

_…-…_

_…Wouldyeliketasee_Flashdance_withme?_

_Yes, I would. I love your accent, where are your from?_

_Scotland. Glasgow. You?_

_America. Riverdale._

_Memoires, I loved you the moment I met you._

.

.

Perhaps -none too surprisingly, given his current predicament- he found himself wishing he'd been left alone longer. It had hurt a hell of a lot less for a start. Limbs held too long immobile, half numb from the chill, now moved far too slowly for his Keepers liking, and they repeatedly resorted to literally dragging him along the corridors. Pins and needles set his arms and legs on fire; previous injuries had left them stiff and largely unresponsive. Lying on the cold floor certainly hadn't helped, and he'd nearly passed out as his blood pressure plummeted when they'd pulled him to his feet. Well, knees, anyway. It had taken far longer than they had patience for to get him upright. He had new bruises to prove it.

The light out here, though still a sickly shade of green, was considerably better, not that it improved the appearance of either the Bugs or his surroundings particularly. It was still cold, and he was certain that his breath, had it not been trapped within a rebreather unit clamped over mouth and nose, would have misted the air before him. He shivered. Really, despite the fact that the air itself stung his eyes, he half felt that he would rather be breathing _that_, than what he was forced to breath _now_. It was _rancid. Actually, much like the after effects of Becker's one and only attempt at 'wild mushroom soup.' _That thought brought forth a smirk, quickly dropped as he stumbled over his own feet, cursing.

Too slow to catch his step, long fingers tangled through his hair and hauled him forward; a cry of pain was lost for lack of breath, and he choked, desperate for air. Although being shaggy was simply too comfortable -and of course as an added bonus it irritated the hell out of Young- he was really wishing he'd take Eli's advice and had it cut. They'd have had a much harder time of hauling him along that way, and his poor scalp would be feeling somewhat less ill used. He wished they'd quit with that.

_I wish, I wish… if wishes were horses…_

An abrupt stop bought a staggering end to his musings, and gave him the opportunity to actually use his lungs properly. _Always a bonus_. An imposing metal door loomed before them, and he swallowed against the twisting in his gut. A metal clad fist struck a panel beside the frame, and the door laboured open with a hiss of pressurised air. Through the doorway, the light seemed to bleed out, dimmer than where he stood. He shivered again as a cold draft lit across his bare arms; winced in pain as abused muscles protested such involuntary action. Still tied tightly behind his back at wrist and elbow, he would have sworn he should have lost feeling in his fingers by now. The fact that he was painfully aware of them countermanded that theory. Unfortunately.

Vocal sound echoed from the gloom, and he returned his attention to his surrounding just in time to brace himself.

_Onwards, dear friends!_

They obliged.

A characteristically harsh _yank_, and they were moving forward again. He wondered absently if they were disappointed he hadn't fallen. The room bore the same unpleasant ambience that he'd seen so far, cold, damp, badly lit; that ever-observant, constantly watchful part of his mind catalogued his surroundings, taking note of a presence on either side of the entrance, consoles, displays, _no chairs_, leaving him free to focus upon the alien before him.

_Oh, ca'mon, Nick! Ya figured they were bugs. Why so surprised?_

And yet… he was. He rolled his eyes.

_Surely it's just way too bloody cliché for the big bad alien to be that damn ugly? Either that, or the universe really does have a perverse sense of humour. Both, perhaps? Hmm…_

And, forwards. Again.

"Stop pullin' me!! I'm no' a bloody bag'a pot-_aaergh!_" Thrust to his knees before it, his head was wrenched back, and the world burst into vivid colour as pain exploded behind his eyes.

As his vision cleared he realised he was being hauled roughly upright; he hadn't even been aware that he had fallen.

_God…_

It raised a fist again and he flinched, frightened, unable to help himself. A long hiss, amused (some sounds transcended all languages, unfortunately); fingers unfolding, it reached overhead, taking from its subordinate what could only be a data crystal. _Pissin' military. God, I hate dealing with them, and here I am again, on the wrong side of a psychotic commander._ Long legs carried it quickly to a console, where it inserted said crystal; instantly, the image of a ship was displayed. Nicholas squinted at it, trying to make it out through the tears still swimming in his eyes. His stomach dropped

_That looks familiar. Crap…_

His second 'escort' approached, and began to point out areas of apparent interest; enlarging the schematic, it drew attention to the communications platform (_fixed that_) and the fuselage _(fixed that, too) _zooming through the hull, it displayed the pilots' array (_shite, I'm seeing a pattern here)_ followed by the aft secondary relay junction.

He felt sick

They flicked through more images, chattered amongst themselves, with the clicking of mandibles, and sharp buzzings, hisses, croaks and whistles that grated upon his ears, aggravating the painful beat that threatened to deafen him, before the soldier gestured to its compatriot; the dark malicious eyes of the commander (_can I get away with callin' ya 'Colonel', I wonder?_) turned to him, then up to focus upon KeeperBug Numero Uno. Approaching, it reached out for a second time, and received several painfully recognisable objects; the instruments he'd brought to the planet with him, as well as the repaired devices he'd taken from the wrecked craft. _Oh, an' there goes ma shiny new dialer. Bugger._

It turned them over, activated them, paying particular interest to the human devices,_ what with the pretty flashy lights, an' all, _before turning it's gaze upon him. A string of chatter, and he had no chance to defend himself before the back of his skull was caved in.

Darkness. Oblivion.

.

.

_She was lovely. Like sunshine when she smiled. Belle of the ball._ _He'd heard_ _her speak, heard her laugh; crystal bells and silver waterfalls_

_He was smitten._

_And she was surrounded, rich boys from London, graduates from Eton, Princeton. Toffs and posh fags with silver spoons and butlers to wipe their arse. Money._

_What sort of chance was there in that? Zip. Didn't take a genius to work that one out. _

_She wasn't that shallow, not a chance, but they were charming and polite and well spoken. Debonair . He'd never disliked his accent before. Hated it now._

_She bid goodbye to her admirers, they parted before her like the Red Sea. She drew level, bid him good morning as she always did when their paths crossed. He murmured a reply._

_Worth a chance. She can only say no. Fell in step beside her. _

_Say something! Idiot! Someone'll already o' asked her!_

_She smiled._

' _Was w'ndarin', umm.'_

'_Yes?'_

'_Well, ya nae, Tuesdae evenin', t' premier, umm…' Shit!! Breathe, speak properly._

'_Are you asking me out?' Oh,God_

'…_Nae.'_

'_No?'_

'_Weell, trying. Kinda. Na' really. Err…'_

'_I would say yes if you did.'_

'…_-…' Really? Deep breath '…Wouldyeliketasee_Flashdance_withme?' Prat. Would she even want to? No idea if she liked that sorta film_

'_Yes, I would. I love your accent, where are your from?'_

_No shit, seriously? 'Scotland. Glasgow. You?'_

'_America. Riverdale.'_

_She really was lovely._

.

.

Awareness. Light.

Pain fogged his head, made it difficult to think; a throb between his temples, deep pulsating ache that made him whimper. He wanted it to shut up. Wanted to be still. Wanted to go back to the darkness. She was there, walking his dreams. His quiet sanity. _Beautiful. _Remembrance swam slowly up from the murky depths: _Wanted to not be here._

_Hurts…_ pounding, driving out all rationale thought. He couldn't make sense. Couldn't…

Warmer. _Odd_. Why? Cold floor. _Flushed face. Doesn't help. _Not warm, just warmer. Warmer air. _Why odd?_

Think. _Can't._

Stillness. Silence behind the drums in his head. Something… missing? _What? _Important.

Think. _Trying. Please…_

Sore. Stiff neck, shoulders. Hands still tied behind his back. Rebreather. Cold floor. _No vibration. _Important. _Why?_

_Make a wish…_

Stillness. Echo in the_ s_ilence_. Where's the thrum?_

_Connection. _Understanding. _No power_.

_I wish…_

Not on a ship_. …Please._

_Stillness, silence… _

They'd arrived.

_._

_._

_Help me…_

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_I think the ending fits. I hope it makes sense. It's that sudden gut wrenching flash of realisation that he is completely and utterly alone, and there is absolutely no one, no ally or friend, and no chance of rescue. He's hurt and scared and thoroughly miserable. His mind is racing, and yet he can't think straight. Don't worry, though, it's a momentary blip (for now, anyway!). He'll be back to his usual charming self in the next chapter, I just wanted to touch on some vulnerability, show that he's not made of stone, emotionless and impenetrable as the 'crew' (and I use the term loosely) seem to think._


	3. Torment

Sorry it's late! I'd been beating my head against the keyboard for nearly a week, and then poof! There it was :)

Yay! It's much longer than the last chapters, more than double the length! I hope it's worth the wait. The story progresses, as promised, we get more mean-ass aliens and more Rush-whump. I haven't changed the rating yet, I haven't felt I need to, but if ya'll disagree would you let me know?

Swearing. To be expected! Misspellings when he's musing internally are intentional…

Not mine. Still, despite all my plotting and scheming.

Damn, even I think I'm being horrible to him. Poor Nicholas

Kudos!

Afterthought- OMG in 3 hours I go pickup my PC! I am so sick of using a laptop. Ma' babyz comin' home. It's only been 4 weeks since it died :|

apologies for the repost- it lost a lot of formatting. grrr!

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_Will ye marry me?_

_Yes…_

_._

_Memoires, Snippet of time_

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The long stretch of silence gave him plenty of time, not only to feel sorry for himself, but also to think, unfortunately, and the more he thought, the worse he felt; minutes stretched into hours with no distraction while his mind ran through scenario after scenario, desperate to understand and unable to do so. Nausea roiled his belly, left him clammy and shivery in the cold air. The pounding headache intensified, though closing his eyes helped little; colour throbbed behind his vision in time to the beat of his heart.

_Enough!_

He recognised the signs of self induced hysteria, and downright refused to be reduced to a quivering wreck by an overactive imagination before anything had even been _done_ to him.

_Excluding, of course, tha multiple concussions…_

_Shut up._

Clamping down hard, he focused on his breathing, concentrating all his attention on the simple act of slowly breathing in through the nose, _hold_, slowly breathing out through the mouth, _hold_. Repeat. _Stay sane_. It helped, some, and allowed him to carefully turn his attention to the situation at hand without flying off the handle. He rather expected this was the point of such a prolonged solitude, to cause captives to work themselves into such a state that their own imagination became their worst enemy. The Bugs probably found the whole thing highly amusing. If you could call what they had a sense of humour.

They would come, eventually; it was an irrefutable, unchangeable certainty. That they had taken him in the first place, rather than simply killing him, signified a desire for something, be it knowledge or entertainment, though there was the high probability that it'd be both. _All work an' nae play makes' Johnny a dull boy.._. There was nothing he could do about it either way, though he wondered if it would be possible to ease his stay whilst he made plans to extricate himself from their oh-so-pleasant company. Remaining was not, obviously, an option; escape was the only plausibility. Experience to date having already proven that this species didn't have _his _best interests at heart, he rather doubted his situation would improve going forwards, regardless of his change in location (and keepers, most likely), and he had no intention of helping _them_ if he could avoid it. Not foolish enough to think that he could not be broken -when the right pressure was applied, _anyone_ would break- he fully intended to delay such a bleak inevitability for as long as it took to plot and execute his dash for freedom.

_At least, that's the idea._

How could he plan, though, when he didn't know what the hell was going on? _Like trying to Waltz blind on quicksand. _No, he needed information, and quickly. So, play along? Wait it out? Would acting the coward get him what he needed, fast, or would they be disgusted enough that they couldn't play properly with him and break his neck? Would it make any difference either way? There were way too many variables, too many dependencies, and too many hidden pitfalls, and he was in no state to try and puzzle things out. At least he felt calmer, which was a blessing; he didn't think he could cope with dry heaving. Again. It hadn't been fun the last time, and he wasn't sure his head would forgive him a second round. Not to mention the fact that he'd be stuck with it trapped within the rebreather; the smell was revolting enough already without him adding to it.

Time passed. It had a habit of doing that. Weariness set in with a vengeance now that his mind had stopped racing, and he dozed lightly, half alert. There wasn't anything he could do at present, besides tie his thoughts in knots, and he _really_ needed the rest. Unconsciousness didn't count.

The quiet echo of his breathing was abruptlyshattered some time later when the door slide open with a harsh metallic clang that set his ears to ringing, caused his headache to resume its rhythmic pounding. He jerked awake, instantly tense, defensive. Irritable. He raised an eyebrow, infusing his expression with as much arrogant condescension as the pain reverberating through his skull would allow. _Well,_ _I guess I've picked ma course. Let tha games begin._

Nothing was said as he was hauled to his feet, and shoved in the direction of the door. He fell, and was dragged upwards again by strong hands wrapped tightly around shoulders that screamed in protest. This felt all too familiar. Surprisingly, however, they retained their grip, one on either side, and supporting his weight drove him forwards. _Well that's unsettling. And creepy. _

The ambience of this place was no better than aboard the ship; the hallway, like the chamber, was chill, the lighting dull. Actually, that was a godsend; his headache would have been greatly exacerbated by brightness, and he would have been unable to focus on his surroundings, which were proving interesting. The floor was cold enough that he could feel it through his socks, and was oddly pliable; it shifted underfoot, and had he the time to test the theory, he was sure he could have dug his toes in and left an impression. He wondered if the walls were the same. The cell floor, as he was intimately aware, had been hard, stone; why was it different? _Because_ it was a cell, perhaps? _Would'na want the inmates getting comfy. _The surfaces didn't look like stone, or metal, or even plastic; didn't have the biological feel that he half expected from an insectoid race, unlike the Wraith, descendents of the Aratus Bug, whose ships were formed of organic material. It was unusual for him to be clueless, and whilst normally he enjoyed a good mystery, there would be no opportunity to indulge his curiosity, and unsolved puzzles irked him, especially when he could literally _touch_ them.

Rigid supports, ribs, rose from floor to ceiling at regular intervals and at junctions, and he was surprised to see carvings in the walls and at intersections. _Directions? Was this place big enough to need them?_ There was a happy thought. Still, it wouldn't take him long to memorise them, and he expected there would be a pattern to them; all he had to do was pay attention. _Which might be easier said than done. Pay attention _now_._ There were many times when possessing an almost eidetic memory was more a curse than anything else, but, in circumstances where he had to learn a lot of information quickly it was a blessing. _And if there was ever a time it was needed, it's now._ A glance committed them, as well as the twists, turns, and directions of branching pathways, to memory. Strangely, the Bugs didn't seem bothered by his apparent 'distraction', which was a relief, although perhaps they were under orders to deliver him without further harm. Or they simply weren't bothered. Or had done this so many times they'd lost interest. Or-

_Pack it in!_

He swallowed, aware that his mind was running away with him again. _Focus. Stay alive. Plan_. A mantra to remember, and hopefully live by. _So, focus._ _They didn't care. Fine, accept it an' move on. _He had better things to worry about than a _lack _of abuse. Like that-

An alien. Not an alien-Bug, but an alien-_Alien._ Allies? _Shit_. A split second, and they were past it. He barely registered the guards they passed, though he would remember them as well. _No, not an ally. Why?_ _Think._ It was maskless, obviously able to breathe. Thin, but that could be natural. The image hovered in his mind. No, it was the expression. Dead. Lifeless. Something else: _a metal collar. Manacles. _His skin prickled with gooseflesh.

_Slave._

Fan-fucking-tastic.

A door, a tiny room. It lurched, and his stomach dropped to the floor._ Cool; elevator. _One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand, four-one thousand, five-one- he staggered at the sudden halt. _Swish_! Managing to get his legs moving in time, he avoided another sharp pull; a small comfort, admittedly, but it was something.

There was little difference on this level, save that the hall was wider, taller, a litftle brighter than below. A very gentle breeze brushed over his skin, making the hairs stand on end. Air movement. _Interesting. Turbines or ventilation shafts? _Again, there were markings on the walls, though nothing directly opposite the elevator door. There were, however, guards standing to either side; there probably was on every floor. _How many?_ He hadn't noticed a pad or even buttons in the elevator itself. _Remote control, then?_ That might prove awkward. How the hell would he get his hands on one of those?

_By being a sneaky bastard, obviously._

Face it, it _was _something he excelled at. Ask anyone…

He sighed, coughed. A tug kept him moving. There were more Bugs up here, and he was forced to do a double take. Only those who were obviously guards, like his current keepers, had their heads enclosed by the opaque hood, and although most of the rest were armoured, such could not be said for all. The nature of their race was prominently displayed by these few; little was hidden by the loose draping of shimmery, brilliantly coloured cloth, the intent of which seemed to be decoration or statement, rather than modesty. Such brightness seems so at odds with what he currently knew of them, though he readily admitted that his treatment being less than stellar had left him somewhat biased. If there were two genders, there was no telling them apart, not by his eyes, anyway; variations in height and build meant nothing, especially given that these discrepancies were small, and the facial features were broadly the same.

He found himself the focus of intense scrutiny by faces so totally alien as to be completely unreadable; that did not mean, however, that he could neither feel or interpret the weight of their stare. His skin crawled beneath attention that ranged from apathy to overwhelming malevolence. He wondered what percentage of the race was xenophobic. _Maybe it's actually encouraged. People on Earth have done it, an' there are plenty there who would probably hate an entire species for tha simple fact that it exists. Prejudice needs nae reason._ It was, he knew, easy to hate a race purely on principle and refuse to acknowledge any similarities or equality; doing so shatters a bigots beliefs, lays bear the fact that the target of their hatred is not so different as they wanted to think, for, if you were forced to acknowledge the similarity in one, you would be forced to extend the same acknowledgement to all, and then their guiding principles turned to dust. Indoctrination was a powerful tool. _Or maybe they do just generally hate everyone else. Wonderful…_

Wherever they were going, it was a fair trek. They did not relax their grip, and he was oddly grateful; they continued to support his weight and he knew that without them he would have fallen a long time ago. Still, he ached, his head felt about ready to explode, exhaustion had set in, and was literally dying for a drink. He'd even settle for that vile attempt at 'tea' the crew had come up with. Much as he dreaded arriving, he was desperate to get there, just for the chance to stop and rest. His wish came sooner than expected, and he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

A long, straight hall ended in a doorless entrance way flagged by guards. A large room followed- he flicked his gaze about it. _Look. Remember. _More armoured Bugs stood at each corner and at the centre of two of the five walls; another entrance was set centrally in the walls to his immediate right and left. The room was a dull sandy-brown, carved pillars rose at regular placements; set in the high vaulted ceiling were evenly spaced circular holes through which filtered light flowed. Flecks of dust danced lazily in the diffused beams. _That's strangely peaceful_. It put him in mind of the dusty sandstone tombs of Egypt. The same unexpected, shockingly bright material he'd seen being worn hung in great drapes of cloth that fell from where the walls met the ceiling, and colourful banners drifted on gentle air currents from structural ribs set high overhead. The floor was also carved, with amazing intricacy._ A race of incredible dichotomies_. At the far end, directly opposite, rose a dais upon which sat an oddly shaped chair, obviously designed to fit their physical characteristics. It was the gathering before that, though, that held his attention.

He was brought before three Bugs and forced once again to kneel. They were, physically, similar to all the others he'd seen; it was their bearing, the sheer presence they exuded that set them apart, even from the ships' Commander. Well, that and their armour, which was stunning, particularly that worn by the central figure. Dark in colour, smooth, edged with what appeared to be metal - possibly gold, inlayed with metallic symbols and carvings similar to those engraved upon the floor, only much more elaborate. Armoured skirts, split into sections to facilitate easy movement, gave added protection to the thighs, and plates arced out over the upper shoulders. There were no obvious attachments at the shoulders for the hood- presumably they didn't wear one. _Helmets, maybe?_ No protection on the upper arms or any hands, either. They were majestic and terribly daunting, and studied him with great gravity. Unlike before, when he had encountered Bugs in the passageways, he felt nothing from them, they gave nothing away.

A chitter, a sharp hiss, and the room suddenly emptied save for the three. One approached, reached out and wrapped long fingers about his jaw, twisting his head slowly from side to side. It took all his willpower not to flinch away, though he couldn't keep from trembling. The chitinous fingers were cold, and the touch, while firm, was gentler than he expected. It crouched down before him, face to face, Its' gaze boring deep into him – _eyes are as __windows to the soul- _and he couldn't have looked away even if he'd been unrestrained. Its' eyes were fathomless, frightening, completely and utterly inhuman; he felt like he was flailing, drowning, he wanted to scream, and then it was gone. He blinked. Hadn't even seen It move. His thoughts were in complete disarray. _What the hell?_ It wasn't telepathic, there had been no intrusion, and yet he knew It had gained something from the encounter. His arms suddenly fell to his side, and he swayed forward with gasp of pain as stiffened muscles suddenly shifted, blood flowed freely along once constricted veins, and nerve endings came back to life with a vengeance.

_Oww…_

Really, that was it. He couldn't come up with anything else. With a jolt that momentarily banished the pain, he realised one was behind him, had removed his bonds. That was shocking. _They're too fast!_ He thought, dismayed. Sound, _chatter_, intruded, from behind and afore, and he looked up, and was unwittingly pinned by the intense scrutiny of the Boss-Bug. It was silent, but still staring at him. He shuddered. It was just plain… wrong. The others were talking. No, arguing? About him? They seemed excited, nervous, full of anticipation; the one in front paced, both made gestures with their hands. The Boss remained impassive. He rather wished they weren't so enthused, that couldn't bode well.

_I da'nae understand…_

The one in his field of vision moved away to the dais, picked up things he hadn't been able to see, and his heart sank. His equipment. Again. _Shit. _Unlike the Commander-_Colonel _-Bug, this one _was_ interested in the Ancient devices, and in the Bug ones he'd repaired. Typical. _Those things are like a stone around ma neck _-he pushed away the image of the slave - _why had Young not taken his gear?_

Obvious; that would have aroused far too much suspicion. _Not only does he get me inta this mess, he manages ta make it worse as well. Bastard._

Boss-Bug moved, then, but only as much as was necessary to receive the instruments and look at them. Beyond that It held Its' bearing. _Ok, a bit much with tha' melodrama, don't ya think? _The chattering continued, and he closed his eyes, really wishing they'd stop; the sound went right through his head, managed to make his teeth itch. The darkness behind his eyelids deepened, and he opened them to see Boss-Bug directly in front of him. He jumped, swallowed. Slender fingers reached out, grasped the rebreather and paused; realising Its' intent, he froze, wide-eyed, terror clawing at his belly. He held a breath -what It had been waiting for- and then pulled it free.

It studied his face, unhindered by the mask. Cool air brushed over his lips, making them tingle. Time paused; the universe seeming to hold its' breath with him. Dust hung frozen in the light. Suspended. He was instinctively, intimately aware of his surrounding, of the sudden fragility of his own existence; so much he had done and left undone; so much he had said and not said and wished he could take back; bottomless sorrow, soaring joy; contentment; regret. His life didn't flash before his eyes -even as he fought to keep down his panic, he knew It wouldn't let him die- but a face rose unbidden before him, unwanted for the pain, yet craved in equal measure for the love it bought with it. Eternal, unchanging; unchangeable, now. Her hair would never grey, her skin never crease. No new laughter lines would adorn the corners of her eyes. She was frozen forever as he was for a moment, and in that boundless eternity he could reach out and _touch _her, and be whole again, and loved, and he would have given anything, _anything,_ to still be moving through time together, with her forever. His reason. His life. His heart.

His glory.

_Gloria._

He felt It replace the rebreather, felt it suction to his cheeks, around the back of his head, felt the sudden weight of it, and he blinked, returning, grounded once again in the hated present. He swallowed, again, past the lump in his throat, and struggled to push the past aside, to focus. _This is important! Pay attention!_ He needed to have all the pieces. Its' expression was one of fascination, satisfaction; worrying separately, and downright stomach turning together. It had what it wanted. A flick of fingers, and he was back on his feet, being led away; the doorway that had been on his right, this time. _Not back to the cell, then_. He had time, now, to think, he could allow that always alert, almost separate part of his mind to review his journey without conscious input, but his thoughts didn't take the turn he expected. Although he should have anticipated it, all things considered. Memories of her were always raw, and he was well aware that her death was largely to blame for him being the person he was now. There were other factors, but losing her had devastated him, and he'd sworn never to suffer that again. He couldn't. he allowed the thoughts in; they were a welcome distraction. Her smile hadn't changed, he reflected, down through all the long years, despite everything. Maybe he was imagining it, projecting what he wanted onto his memories, but her smile was no different at the bitter end to how it had been the first moment he saw her. Every moment of happiness, of joy, blinding and brilliant shone through her undiminished, illuminating his memories even as the brightness hurt him. She'd been his light, and had lifted him in ways he could never have imagined, and watching her lingering, waking death had made him unbelievably angry, an anger that was barely diminished even now, and tarnished everything, casting a bleak shadow that blocked out the sun, smothering everything below. If he was lucky, there may be an ending soon…

He shook his head. No need to be thinking like that.

So many moments crystallised in his memory when she had changed his life, changed him, turned his world upside down. That she had said 'yes' had never ceased to astound him. Even now, he wondered what blessing, what benediction had bought her into his life and kept her there for more than twenty years. He'd never felt worthy of her, his Glory, but then that was the point, wasn't it? Love wasn't about someone else belonging to you, it was about you belonging to someone else; and he had belonged to her completely, always would, as surely as the sun would always rise in the East. He'd been so nervous, which had never made sense. Going down on one knee on a quiet evening in Hyde Park during a trip to London, watching her smile through her tears, knowing he had been the one to bring that light to her. It hadn't been an expensive ring, but he had saved, hard, made the day special, never to be forgotten.

'_Will ye marry me?'_

'_Yes…'_

_And she kissed him, long and sweet, her tears on his cheeks, her fingers threaded through his hair. Gently, he took her hand, kissed her fingertips and raised the ring. Hesitated. Was it enough? Would anything ever be worthy of her?_

'_It's not-'_

'_shushhh,' she whispered, 'it's beautiful.'_

_She meant it, truth shone from her eyes. His heart relaxed, a tension he hadn't even realised he carried broke away. He smiled up at her, unrestrained, and slipped the ring upon her finger._

_'Tha gaol agam ort…'_

'_I know. I love you too…'_

He wondered whether his possessions were here. He wanted his ring with a passion so fierce it made him shake. They wouldn't understand such a request, though, and even when they did asking for it would only result in mocking refusal. _So, steal it back on the way out. Plan._

His reminiscence and fanciful planning was brought to an end along with the hallway. _One horizontal elevator ride, too much walking, one vertical ride, and even more walking. Lots of doors and branches. Easy. _It opened, another short ride down, and he was lead through. The hallway curved away, and after half a dozen yards doors appeared at regular, frequent intervals along the outer curve. With rarity, one would appear along the inner wall. Something about the solid, faceless barriers sent a chill shooting down his spine; his scalp prickled with unwelcome premonition, and he was right; a few minutes of walking later, -thirty eight doors- they came to one left open, a yawning, hungry mouth, and it was to this dark room that he was consigned.

* * *

A careful examination of the room had revealed much, and little; the former in that it was largely empty, no cot, blankets or even bucket, and the latter in that he wasn't really surprised. There was a rectangular recess in the wall, the purpose of which he couldn't begin to guess, but beyond that the surfaces were hard, smooth and cold. Not metal, but not stone, either, and certainly not a plastic, though it could have been a polymer of some sorts. Crawling to a corner of the far wall, he sat facing the door, waiting. He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but pass it did and eventually the door slid open again. There was no opportunity to prepare before he was dragged forth, and he blinked in the dull light of the passage. His bearings had to catch up as he was led to the left, away from the direction they had initially come from. An indistinguishable, solitary door on the inner curve was their destination, and through it a brighter room, larger than he had expected.

Three more Bugs were within, garbed in a dark material from neck to ankle, leaving feet, arms and head bare, hovering over consoles and displays. He realised he was shaking. He felt sick. He didn't need specifics to know that this was truly bad. Could guess at what they were. _Oh God…_ A gesture, and he was pulled, struggling, to a low bench fitted with restraints; he was shoved to his knees, and his head forced down, face into an oval shaped hole, a strap looping over the back of his head. He fought, though it was futile._ Please…_ Wrists were bound, weight settled across his shoulders, hair was brushed aside. He wouldn't beg, he wouldn't. A cold weight settled across the back of his neck, covering the scalenus muscles on either side, reaching from hairline to last cervical vertebrae; clamped down harshly, dug in

'Please…'

He tried to twist away, desperate, terrified, all in vain; the pain that came was excruciating, burning so hot it felt like ice ripping through him. He was on fire, relentless, beyond anything in his worst nightmares. It was incessant, interminable. His whole body was wracked by terrible spasms, and he choked, barely able to draw breath. There was no relief from the agony, no end in sight, no escape.

He screamed.

* * *

He lay shivering, conscious, huddled in a corner of the dark cell. From time to time shuddering convulsions twisted his body, and when they did he whimpered. He could scarcely think, couldn't string a coherent sentence together. He was lost. Alone. His mind, numbed, barely registered where he was, only that it was a bad place, scarcely knew who he was; that knowledge had been a long time in returning, and was incomplete. Sense of self had been scattered in the maze of agony he had endured, when his mind had skittered away to hide. There had been nowhere, despite how far he retreated from himself, no blackness, no blissful oblivion. It had hurt too much to pass out.

Repeatedly he raised his hand to the root of the pain, wanting to soothe it, to make it go away; touching only made it flare anew, blazing white-hot that tore into him, and he would wail, jerk away, only to try again and again with the same result. Nothing helped. It wouldn't ease. It wouldn't. He wanted, he wanted, he _wanted…_

_Please…_

He wanted it to go away. Wanted to not hurt. Wanted to wake up and find himself somewhere else. _Anywhere_ else. There was no escaping the reality, though, no delusion that this was any hallucination. Wanted to pass out. Wanted to weep. He had no tears; the shock was too great. Wanted with a powerful desire things he couldn't remember, couldn't put a name to, only knew that their absence left an aching hole within. Wanted to be safe. Hard metal caught his face. Memory stirred

_Go away…_

They'd dumped him in here, unceremoniously. _Before that._

_Go away!_

A dim hallway. Being dragged by his arms. He'd felt like lead. _Felt like air_. Head dangling, body limp; feet and knees trailing along the floor. _Before that._

_Please…_

A room. Tall, shadowy shapes. He could barely see, couldn't hear beyond the roaring in his ears. Mighty weights about his wrists, so cold against his burning flesh. Manacles. '_sn't there more?_

_Dae'n wanna remember…_

The tug was persistent, unwavering. _Nae, nae more. Please?_

He had lost all control of his body as he lay heaped upon the floor, but had been too far-gone to feel any humiliation.

_Lemme sleep…_

Half crazed with terror and pain. Hyperventilating. There was no air, only fire, and his throat had constricted, couldn't remember how to breathe. Didn't know when they'd stopped, didn't feel his release, only the ice floor beneath a body slick with sweat and bodily fluid. He'd heaved and heaved until his throat was raw. It'd stopped him screaming, couldn't manage even a whisper. Couldn't move, no coordination.

'_sn't tha' e'nff?_

They'd branded him.

_O' God…_

A thought circled what little sanity he had. Refused to let go.

_Nae…_

This was the start.


	4. Comprehension

I have a present for you :) 10 pages of story, early! Cool, huh? Hope you enjoy! All criticism, praise, and chocolate is highly appreciated

Lol, I realised when I went back to my notes that the entire last chapter was only about a dozen bullet points out of 3 pages worth!! And even after _this_ chapter, wer're still only on page 1. Darn… it wz da Bugs wot did it. I hadn't noted _anything_ about the Bugs, I made that all up as I went. It just seemed to work, and when I had the idea it just came pouring out. Weird, huh? I like how they came out, though; they were in danger of becoming stereotypical bad aliens, what with being ugly, bad tempered and having big guns, an' all. I love the complete contradiction between their apparent culture and the way they treat other races. I'm glad ya'll like 'em, too! I'm really pleased that you all like the Memoirs, too; I'm very fond of those.

This one's a bit long; there were a couple of places that I could have stopped, but the first place felt like I would just be repeating the whole whump-cliffhanger thingy, and the second would have left the next chapter too short, given that I would have wanted to end it exactly where I have here. I wouldn't want to bulk it out with waffle! There's enough block text in this chapter…

Right, my wonderful readers; have some answers.

Umm, swearing. Yeah… lots. Not a good chapter for Nick.

Not mine, though I wouldn't turn it down…

For Tiger-Scribbles, who is desperate for a distraction and a poke in the right direction! :-p

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

_So._

_Hmm…_

_That's an oyster, is it?_

_Aye, apparently._

_Is it meant to look like that?_

_.I… think so…_

_Hmm. What say we skip this bit?_

_Oh, thank God…_

_Memoirs, the Art of Dining_

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

_Roll up, roll up! See the amazing performing monkey! All tricks guaranteed real! Ye won't be disappointed!_

He turned the unit over in hands that trembled slightly. Bug-tech in origin, it was something he hadn't seen before. It was also, quite obviously, broken. He sighed, prodding a fracture in the outer casing. Picking through a selection of tools, he set to work. It hadn't taken him long to figure out why he was here, in this room. He didn't understand the purpose of it, but had quickly come to realise what they expected of him. It was, he assumed, a test. _Finished_. He popped the remains of the cover off, selected a different tool.

Things had settled into an unpredictable pattern since his initial 'induction' as he'd come to call it. It had taken a long time for the pain to recede, but eventually his body had simply given up; exhaustion and despair had finally taken their toll, and he'd drifted in and out of broken, restless slumber that made him feel worse on waking, stuffy headed and raw throated. The only benefit was that each time he came back to himself the pain had lessened a little, enough to be noticeable. Even now it ached, though admittedly he had no idea how much time had passed; he would guess days, maybe a week. So much had happened since then. Interrupted rest, bouts of unconsciousness and long stretches of never ending pain had distorted time. They would leave him alone for endless hours in the silent dark, driving him to the edge of sanity, and at other times he didn't do more than cat-nap for what felt like days on end, shunted from one lab to another, to a workstation here, an examination room there, sometimes with no rest in between. There was no consistency, and the sequence of events was never exactly repeated. He could never predict what would come next. It was, he knew, psychological torture to add to the physical; they were wearing him down, pushing his boundaries, testing his endurance, strengths and reserves. The sensory and sleep deprivations, erratic meals and rest times, the endless tasks, the interrogations. All of it. And it was working. He frowned; _Th' won't do. _Discarding his previous selection, he settled on something that looked like a cross between a scalpel and a pair of surgical tweezers. Squinting, he set to; fingers jerked and it skittered across the device, digging into his palm.

"_Shit!"_

Pain flared. Dropping the tool in surprise, he watched the blood course slowly down his hand and arm in morbid fascination, followed it as it tracked in red the curve of bone and muscle. Ordinarily, he would have sucked it; the rebreather prevented that. Besides, it was kinda cool. A hiss made him flinch, his head snap up. Wiping the blood on his thigh, he returned to his work. With greater care he began slicing and peeling back the protective covering from the inner wiring. It was painstaking work, a job that had taken many hours back on the planet, _a lifetime ago_, sometimes working from dawn till dusk on the same, seemingly minor task. He had been healthier then, without the same physical and mental stress that he bore now; it had been considerably easier. It had to be done, though, for, once damaged, the coating tended to fray. Tendrils would interfere with the internal workings of the device, causing more problems, shorting it out or frying it completely. He'd lost a few Bug handhelds that way. It was, he had observed, something the Bugs understood; providing he didn't stop, no attempt was made to rush this process. _Really, come up wi' somethin' more practical._ Actually, this one wasn't so bad; some of the ones they had given to him had been considerably more complex and time consuming.

There was no way of knowing how much time passed before he was satisfied. Setting it down, he flexed long fingers, took time to try and roll some of the kinks and stiffness from his shoulders and neck. Arching his back, he heard (and felt) vertebrae pop. It may have sounded nasty, but in reality it was something of a relief, alleviating stiff or stuck joints. He took a moment to flick the room with a cursory glance before settling back to the task at hand.

In truth, he had no idea how big the room was. It was, as far as he knew, practically bare. One table, two chairs, all set in the centre. Occasionally he thought he caught light glinting off shapes hidden by the gloom. He couldn't tell for sure, though; it was entirely possible his tired eyes were seeing things that weren't there. Experience had shown him, however, that there were always numerous guards shadowing him _Beats me what they think I'm gonna attempt_. Seated across the table from him was a shadowy figure, garbed in grey material. An Observer. Directly behind him and back a few yards stood one of his Keepers. He shivered. Picked up slender cutters. Really, some of these tools were quite delicate. He wished these had been on the wreck, it wouldn't have taken nearly half as long, and he'd have been gone. He closed his eyes, beat down the ever-present well of despair. _Focus._ The flick of a switch, and the end glowed green, signifying it was incredibly hot, a peculiarity of the materials the tools were constructed from. Pressing a small button, a tiny laser less than a centimetre long erupted from the end, and he began melting through the Bug equivalent of solder. Setting the unit down, he carefully picked up the tweezers again, and began peeling hair thin filaments away from the fixative. Once done, he bent them out of the way, fumbled on the table for the sucker, a long thin hollow tube with a flexible nozzle attached to a small desktop vacuum, and began extracting the liquid 'solder', as well as the remains of fibre that had broken off in the fixture. It all had to go.

At least the lighting was good. Set overhead, a bright circular light illuminated him, the table, and picked out in sharp, shadowy relief the Observer sitting opposite. Twin lights, one either side of him towards the closest corners of the table, arced up and over; they were set on flexi-stems, both of which he'd bent to be close to his head as he worked, banishing all shadow. Thick darkness crowded against the pool of brightness provided by the light above; nothing could be seen beyond it. He felt that if he could make a break for it, slip from the light into that dark, he could vanish forever. They'd never find him. His imagination built his escape route in the blackness, even as it created monsters in there to pursue him.

Satisfied, he set both utensils aside and relaxed a moment. Muscles groaned in protest at the change in position, but he didn't care. For a moment, just a moment, the light shining pink through his eyelids was like a summer day; it was warm beneath it, and if he listened hard he could hear the sea…

He drew himself back. The Observer was watching him, motionless. Skin crawling beneath Its stare, he looked down at the unit, and with another sigh, he delved back into it, mentally noting further breaks, weak spots, signs of wear. _There… _using a 'de-riveter' he wiggled free a circuit board and two chipsets, setting them aside. They had provided replacements of various internal hardware, like these, way back when they had first sat him here and put him to work. The second time he noticed they hadn't replaced what he'd used; from then on, he worked to fix what he could, rather than replace. He dreaded the thought of coming up against a piece that he couldn't mend and didn't have a replacement for. What would their reaction be? Anothershiver. With the extractor, he sucked out any bits that had broken free, twisting the nozzle into all the nooks of the nearly gutted unit. When cleaned, he paused, picked a plan of attack. Scanning the tabletop (why they couldn't leave things where he'd left them last, he didn't know. _OCD?_) he spied and grabbed a sonic. Not _his _Sonic, but a sonic nonetheless. It worked on a frequency he couldn't hear, but always served to make the Observer shift. For that fact alone, it was priceless. He was very careful, however, not to overuse it; they were very forthright with their displeasure, and he determined to be on the receiving end of it as little as possible. _Why make things harder?_ A quick sweep round the inside loosened anything that still shouldn't be there; the sucker was good, but not that good -he'd use it again in a minute to pick out any last detritus- and then he ghosted it slowly and carefully over the internal parts he'd set aside. A soft brush lifted off a fine cloud of dust; bits dropped down to the table. Hiding a smirk, he swept them onto the floor. The Bugs were absolute _suckers_ for cleanliness, and yet he couldn't have dirt on the surface where he was working, now could he?

Absently, he scratched the inner side of his right forearm with the hard end of the brush, flaking crusted blood onto his trousers. The small wound itched abominably, but it was an intrusion he could easily ignore. All things considered, it was far at the lesser end of what he'd been through recently. He picked up the last piece.

Relief tingled in his belly; all the parts were salvageable. _Not long to go_. The 'solder' came already liquid (hot, too, as he'd found out) and was squeezed out in tiny drops from a fine headed pipette. Rebuilding them was fiddly but relatively simple. He wished it wasn't. He liked this part of his waking hours; they were relatively painless, and he could lose himself for hours on end, becoming numb to reality, to the world around him. For that all too brief span of time he wasn't _here…_

Finishing fairly quickly, he set the last part aside, and poked around inside the unit once again, stripping, building, reattaching. Another laser, a cutter this time; he sliced off damaged material that was unfixable. This too went on the floor. The Observer twitched. It wasn't only untidiness; it turned out they were just as anal about odour, too. His stomach somersaulted to remember being hauled from the pitch black of the tiny cell that first time, still somewhat delirious but considerably more aware of what was going on. The Keepers sealed in their hoods hadn't noticed, but the other one, the one he'd later come to think of as an Observer, had been most vocal in Its displeasure. He hadn't realised at the time what had made It so angry, so indignant, knew only that It was deeply unhappy. A sharp gesture, and he had been dragged away, quite some distance, and into a room with a great perforated basin cut out of the floor. He'd been slung into it, and had huddled on the floor, desperate to alleviate to agony that had blazed through him.

Water. A pounding, lukewarm deluge that had beaten into him, striking from all around, inescapable, left him gasping despite the rebreather; he couldn't have risen against the pressure if he had wanted to. It didn't hurt, save for where it fell against wounds, but that didn't mean it was _pleasant._ He was left shaken when it stopped, wide eyed with a shock that numbed nearly everything else, and rather more awake. He'd been dragged out, limp and unresisting, shivering, and held upright on his knees as the other approached. Mollified, It gestured again, and he was taken away. He knew now, of course. Had put the pieces together; he had _stunk_. They didn't have a nose, but several orifices ran along either side of the face, following the curve of the cheekbone from mandible to the long spine that protected a small cluster of holes, what he could only assume were auditory canals. Given that the sound from the sonic made them jerk their head, rather than another part of them- the reaction to pain being to attempt to move the affected area away- he concluded that, like a human, sound was received through the head.

_Although, ye know what they say about assumptions, Nick._

_Yeah, they land ya in Shit. Capital 'S'…_

As he slowly began to put the pieces back together, his mind turned to the near future, however much he wanted to ignore the prospect. What would follow this? There was never any order, never the same pattern twice. He shuddered, his hands began to shake anew. Clipping the casing back into place, he activated it. Unsurprisingly, it worked. Failure may not have been an option, but succeeding was nearly as bad. The Observer stood, reached across and took it, examining his work. Nicholas kept his eyes on the tabletop. A harsh chitter, a click, the combination he broadly interpreted as _'take him'_, and he was hauled to his feet. He staggered, gasped, and began to cough. Couldn't stop. Knees gave and he slumped, limp, chest burning with the battle for air. Didn't hear the Observer speak again, only knew that the world went dark.

* * *

The return to consciousness was hazy and slow. A tickle; he coughed.

He was in his cell, which was rather surprising; last time he'd collapsed, he'd woken up in the lab. _Nae, this is far more preferable. _Realising that he could see, he looked towards the recess, knowing what he would find; reaching up to touch his face only confirmed his suspicions- the mask was gone. Carefully rolling onto hands and knees, he crawled to the breach in the wall. The green light set at the back of the hole was dim, but still enough to aggravate a headache he hadn't noticed. _Crude, but effective_, he thought ruefully, gently touching the back of his skull where a Keeper Bug had hit him. Once out cold, his breathing would have returned to normal on its own. Still, getting thumped was _seriously _getting old. Groping for the two bowls on the sunken shelf, he carefully retrieved them and eased himself down with his back to the wall. Cautiously, he sipped the water, instantly wrinkled his nose. _Bleurgh. _Still, it was liquid, probably loaded with nutrients, and it eased his throat. He only hoped it didn't make him ill again.

Setting it aside still half full, he turned his attention to the other bowl with a resigned sigh. There was no helping it; he either made an effort or they held him and forced it down. That was never fun. Lips set in a thin line, he peered at the contents and blinked. _Ya shittin' me? _The laugh that came was full and genuine, and continued until his sides hurt, until he found himself gasping for entirely different reasons.

'_So.' _

_So. 'Hmm…' Didn'a it look appetising?_

'_That's an oyster, is it?' _

'_Aye, apparently.' I knae th'y're meant t' be good, but d' we hav' t'?_

'_Is it meant to look like that?' that was a really good question._

'_I… think so…' really, were they gonna pay for the privilege of eating something you couldn't actually _pay_ him to eat?_

'_Hmm' yeah… Please, please, please!' What say we skip this bit?'_

_Yes! 'Oh, thank God…' he leaned across and kissed her. 'I thought ye were gonna make me eat them for a moment there.'_

_She giggled. 'Well, you know what they say about oysters and libido…' He raised an eyebrow._

'_Are ye implyin' somethin', missy?'_

'_Moi? Never, good sir.' She mimicked his gesture with a delicately sculpted brow of her own. 'although, to be certain, we really should go and run a comparative test'_

_His lips twitched as he fought a smile. 'An' if we decide aft'r tha first round that ther's really nae need for a comparison?'_

'_Well,' she licked her lips, leant close, 'we could always enjoy a double helping of dessert…'_

He bit off a nearly hysterical giggle, focused on controlling his breathing. Oh, but that had been funny. They'd never eaten oysters, then or since, and that night there had indeed been double dessert. _How many lifetimes ago was that?_ Too many. _For you I would stop the very rotation of the earth, simply to keep one moment forever…*_ A wave of nearly overwhelming sadness washed over him as he looked back down (they really did look like oysters. Even the colour) and it was with great difficulty that he forced himself to eat. He ate little, knowing from previous results that if he had too much, he'd be sick. They kept trying, and each bowlful was different, but they couldn't yet meet his dietary requirements. That, he knew, worried them, would soon start to cause major problems if they wanted to keep him alive.

That, he suspected, had been the whole point of the battery of blood tests they'd run way back at the beginning- finding out his needs. After being hosed down, he'd been taken back to the lab. The Observer had dictated what It wanted, and before he could even think to protest he'd been lifted onto a narrow table, arms and legs slightly splayed and restrained. A thick ring wide enough to pass around the table was lowered to the head and activated; bright light glared at him, and he'd squinted, shivering. As it slowly passed over, a deep pulse was emitted from it, driving all the way through him, making it difficult to breathe. He'd felt his heart respond, badly; his pulse staggered, like his heart missed beats and couldn't catch up. He'd stood near some of the great bass speakers at Glasto, once; this was similar, but worse. His _teeth_ had ached. When it finished, not soon enough, his body's rhythms had slowly returned to normal, and he'd collected his wits enough to turn his head in an attempt to see the display. As he'd suspected, a massively advanced form of MRI. He'd watched them separate the various systems; circulatory, nervous, digestions, as well as the organs, and skeletal and muscular structures

His shivering had grown worse as time passed with him utterly motionless. He hadn't realised he'd closed his eyes until fingers on his face drew his attention, and he looked up, startled. _Something_ was clipped to either temple, something that hurt; more than a dozen repetitions at various points on his body had left him twitching and gritting his teeth. The ring passed back up, the light a different colour, and it was only when he'd gathered his thoughts a second time that he'd understood that the 'pins' were along points on his nervous system. They were measuring, testing. The pins were moved again, and after the third bout he'd allowed himself to drift. Really, he hadn't needed to think too much about what they were doing. They hadn't bothered with anything invasive- the images produced were amazingly concise- which was a mighty relief. He hadn't been sure, then or now, that he'd be able to cope with that.

-o-

Setting the bowl aside, the scabbed wound on his arm caught his attention, typically only becoming irritating as he focused on it. Given that the best part of scabs was picking them off, he obliged his inner child and began to pick. This one had _hurt._

-o-

Finished with the scans and their huddled discussions, the Observers had retrieved what appeared to be a several long, tightly packed needles attached to a length of clear hose which fed directly into a machine beside the console. He'd guessed what was coming, and even as his breathing had sped up and he'd started to sweat, he'd tried to send his mind away. He _really_ didn't like needles, and this was a whole cluster of the fucking things... that hadn't worked very well, and the sudden pain made him whimper, jerk. Comparatively, though, it was a walk in the park, it had just been the _thought_. Well, that and the damn _size_ of it. He'd been light-headed and woozy, _whee! _by the time they'd finished, but he'd managed to turn his head to see what they were up to; though his vision had been disjointed and fuzzy, he'd been able to make out what appeared to be a chemical breakdown of some sorts, as well as a blood structure. After a moment -_or an hour, it'd been hard to tell-_ an exploded, descriptive representation of a double helix had popped up, _Mine. Pretty… _which set them to chattering again.

-o-

He sighed, flopping his head back against the cold wall. That _sound…_it whispered in his nightmares. If he ever got out of this, he knew it would follow him for the rest of his life. _If…_

If. He would. _Damn._ What option was there? _Better to die on one's feet than live on one's knees.** _He shivered; _that_ was an option. Did that apply to people like him? Could it? He was brave, for a given definition of the word, but would he be brave enough to suffer like this? To die? Could he _live_ this way? He drew his knees up, wrapped cold arms about his shins. Grief welled in him. Despair.

He didn't know.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

He jumped when the door slid open, but he wasn't surprised. They had to come back at some point. _It'd be too much t' ask for t' be left alone for a while, _he thought bitterly. The edges of the doorframe glowed, the air between crackled and fractured as the Bug stepped through; a forceshield, designed to keep him in, and their atmosphere out. In one hand it clasped the rebreather mask; the other three reached out and grabbed him before he had chance to move. There was time to take one last breath of half decent air before it was clamped over his lower face. The field dissipated, and he was dragged outside. A slave scuttled past him to clear the bowls, but he caught only a glimpse before he was hauled back along the corridor, a Keeper on either side of him once more. They passed the lab, then 'his' workroom, and his stomach twisted.

_Please no…_

He panicked, struggling frantically, ineffectively, as they approached the door. He wasn't completely aware of doing so, consciousness was operating on a different level- he _knew_ what he was doing was practically suicidal, but he couldn't stop himself. Breathing came in shuddering gasps, and some distant part of his mind realised he was hyperventilating. He kicked, lashing out with his feet, numb to the pain unprotected limbs striking metal armour caused, twisted, desperate to break free, to get away. There was no chance. Completely unperturbed they maintained their iron grip, practically carrying him into the darkened room.

"_Fuk'in' son'av a bitch! Ge' ya fuk'in' hands off me!!"_

Something clamped to the artery in his neck, pain shooting out, and he went completely limp, though he could still feel their hands on him. He heard the door _woosh_ shut behind them; couldn't see anything but the floor, dark and metallic. He didn't need to see the room, already knew what it looked like; big, dark, foreboding. Five walls, low ceiling. The long curved desk following the walls to his right, supporting consoles; several displays were set above, a large one in the centre. The wall to his left sported a low rack upon which sat a number of devices, some of which he was unpleasantly intimate with. A table, next. And in the middle-

_Not again! Please, not again!_ _Oh God._

-in the middle a chair. They dropped him to the floor, cold beneath his body. He couldn't move, but could feel _everything_. Head turned to the side, he could see grey-clothed legs; Observers. They were ready to start. His mind wailed.

It wasn't a chair, per se. The resemblance was lose, a chair only in the abstract sense. A long back arced upwards with an concavely curved top, crowned with several long spines that folded away, and a flat seat with bars that hooked up over the hips. Behind, a bar sporting thick restraints; another fed up from this, bearing a support for the head. Tubes and wires snaked away into the darkness. The entire content of the room either supported the chair or fed from it; _it_ was the purpose of their existence, this place had no other reason. Bright lights set above. He was picked up and placed onto it face down; chin on the top rest, forehead against the head support. He couldn't fight, couldn't move. Clamps came over his shoulders, the other restraints were locked in place. _No, I'll go mad. Please…_

The detached part of his mind was suddenly glad that he was not responsible for control of his body, not even his breathing; losing it wasn't a humiliation he could bear now that he was mentally fully aware. He could see the floor, legs moving about before him; could hear them behind. Hands on his shoulders, head; he flinched mentally. Shadows flickered in his upper vision as something was shifted above, coming down to rest just within his line of sight. _He couldn't, couldn't… _watched as the long spines were bent backwards, to be positioned around his cranium. Pain flared in his arms, the sides of his neck, as needles were inserted; pins tracked the length of his spine, slipping between vertebrae and into the nervous system. His body jerked involuntarily.

_Whoreson fuk'in' basta'ds!_

Pinpoints of bright light appeared in front. He screamed within in defiance and terror. Raw agony exploded at his temples, along the side of his head, at the base of his skull where it admitted the spine; needles driven into his brain. He convulsed.

The quiet, distant voice; _is this what Franklin felt?_

He knew the principles of resisting mind probing techniques, had studied the Goa'uld and Wraith technology in detail. He tried to twist his mind to the inconsequential, the mundane, as it ripped into his memories, searching. He knew what they would be after, they knew, they just didn't know where to look, so they tore through in great swathes attempting to track down knowledge, would follow it when they managed it, shredded memories in a level of violation he'd never thought possible. They were better this time, they'd been refining it.

He had no thought of his own, couldn't remember his own name, possessed only a powerful will and stubborn nature that had served him all his life, and he exerted every strength he had to wrench the knowledge out of their path. It wasn't enough this time, though, and they sifted gems from the mangled trash they made of his mind. Memories he couldn't even recognize as his own blossomed; people, places, events, sciences, math, races, languages, technologies. They took.

An age passed, an eon; suns died, were born, a baby cried, autumn fell, galaxies collapsed, a gentle laugh, a sigh; a lifetime later and his body could no longer take the torment; his heart faltered, everything ended.

* * *

She gently stroked his hair as he lay unresponsive on the floor.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart"

_Can't…_

Ghosting butterfly fingers over his cheeks, she brushed back limp locks, soothed biting wounds, traced the curve of his lips.

"Sleep, love. I'm here, I'll keep watch"

He closed his eyes.

* * *

He turned the device over in hands that trembled violently, but couldn't work up the necessary emotion to be righteously angry as he would have been a few days ago. It required an effort he couldn't make.

They'd broken it, whether on purpose or by accident he wasn't sure and didn't care. He'd be upset tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. The workings of the Ancient handheld made fixing the Bug tech look easy, but he'd had plenty of practice with Alteran tech, and slowly set to. They'd returned his tools, all of them; didn't know why and couldn't give a shit. Another test most likely. _Suck on it. _He'd scarcely had chance to rest since he'd woken from a long, terrible sleep; the chaotic pattern of his existence here had continued unabated. He scratched absently at his scraggly beard, wondered how much the state of it would have irritated Young. Not even that was enough to lift his melancholy, not even momentarily. He set the broken scanner down, closed his eyes and lent back with a sigh. A short hiss, _'get on with it!'_ scratched his hearing; he ignored it. He heard It shift, lean in closer, _'work, now!'_

'Piss off.'

A clawed hand squeezed his shoulder painfully, and he opened his eyes. From this position he could see the Keeper standing right behind him, could see his own reflection in Its' hood, distorted from where It towered high above him. The thrill of fear usually associated with their physical appearance was dulled by a mind too battered and exhausted to feel much of anything. A hand on the back of his head shoved him forwards, and with another sigh he shakily resumed his work. It was a matter of moments to get inside it and figure out what was wrong, an easy fix- they'd managed to crush it. Time passed and he worked sporadically, not even the 'encouragement' of his Keeper being enough to make him keep a steady pace.

Tiny crystals were cleaned and retuned, circuitry was rebuilt. It was fiddly work, but easy, and he was quickly finished. With great care he set the precious object on the table before him, and stroked his thumb across the pressure pad. The Observer grabbed the scanner when it activated, and fixed it with rapt attention. He slumped, great weariness smothering him, didn't bother stirring when It spoke again.

'_Take him-_krÉe~'co k'sssh' -_leave- _aμ'æşSsl- _the cell'_

He was pulled to his feet, and led away, stumbling along between the Keepers. That was something, he supposed. He drifted, and it felt like mere seconds before he was shoved through the doorway. The shield activated, he felt the air pressure change, and after a moment the Keeper removed the rebreather. It left.

There was light, food in the recess; he couldn't stomach eating. Urinating in the corner by the door (it wasn't like he had a lot of choice and besides, the smell pissed them off- bad pun intended) was a mission in itself, the effort of adjusting his clothing left him light-headed and exhausted. The slow act of turning was too much, and he slumped to his knees, opted to remain there and crawled to the shelf. Digging out the liquid substitute, he huddled in his corner, knees drawn up, hunched in on himself. It tasted different again, but he was desperately thirsty. Drank too fast. It returned with a vengeance, and he barely had time to turn his head before he vomited. He stared absently at the pool glinting in the poor light, barely registering the cramping in his belly. _Maybe later_, he thought, shakily setting the bowl down.

Curling into the corner, away from the dark stain, he succumbed to sleep with the feel of her fingers in his hair, the sound of her breath gentle in his ear.

* * *

He felt marginally better for the sleep, but still would rather they'd left him longer. To his mild surprise it was an Observer that entered, flanked by two Keepers. He could read Its displeasure at the untouched food, and he moved to Its command when It pointed sharply at the bowl.

'_Eat!'_

He slowly choked down a few mouthfuls, then rested back against the wall, begging his stomach to settle. It waited, shifting impatiently, but knew from experience that if It rushed things the man would throw up. Through the painful haze last time he'd found that amusing, puking on it's feet. What little patience It had ended abruptly, and it spoke to the Keepers,

'_Carry him!'_

They obliged, replacing the rebreather, and with one on either side, eight strong hands made light work of his thin frame, though they didn't bother lifting him far enough off the floor to keep his feet from dragging. After a while he turned his attention to his surroundings, made a valiant attempt to get his feet under him; partially succeeded. He frowned. _Where am I?_ This area was new. He studied the hallways, trying to commit what he saw to memory.

His efforts turned out to be completely useless. The journey was long, several elevator trips speeding them unguessable distances, until a final hall ended in an open doorway. It reminded him of that first reception chamber, so long ago. They passed guards and entered within.

He thought he had no more shock left in him, but for some reason he was totally blindsided by the Stargate. A sharp command, and the chevrons engaged, the mighty structure beginning to spin with a grace and beauty that had the ability to awe him even now, even _here… _he stood, enraptured, even as the quiet question nagged _where are they sendin' me?_

_What does it matter? Here? There? Meh…_ regardless, he memorised the address, though it was more out of habit than anything else.

"It'll be alright"

_Ye dunna know that_

"But I know you. You'll figure it out." He could feel her smile.

_I wish I could believe that_

"Then do." So simple. He wished he could believe _her_.

He was taken through.

* * *

Security on the other side was ludicrous, though he doubted it was because of him. Another cell now, though one was much nicer than the other. _It was weird what could pass for 'nice' these days. _Amazingly, a small, if somewhat hard cot lay fixed against the far wall, there was decent lighting, a piss bucket, and it was considerably warmer. Why would they suddenly care? Or did they? There was no guarantee that any of this was for his benefit. Still, it raised interesting questions. He had slept uninterrupted, and had woken on his own accord; gloopy food _Becker's alien counterpart, perhaps?_ and a nutrient drink had been left while he slept, the later of which had been welcome- the former was consumed slowly over what could have been several hours. He'd slept again, urinated, finished both bowls. Fiddled with the manacles in the decent light -_no guarantees it'd last-._ He couldn't find a locking mechanism, but that didn't bother him particularly. He _felt_ so much better, mentally and physically, although the trauma of the last days was still raw in his mind. It was amazing what good light, decent sleep and a lack of torture could do for one's constitution. Still, he knew this false euphoria would be brief, an exaggerated result of his change in circumstance, and a quiet worry gnawed at him. If the last –weeks?- had taught him _anything_, though, it was patience; panicking did no good. That, and the fact they would come when it pleased them.

They did, in the fullness of time, rebreather in hand. Though he didn't fancy leaving for whatever they had planned for him, staying certainly wasn't an option, so he went without protest. He was still shaky, and the longer they walked the slower they progressed, but still; he was walking under his own power. His apprehension grew steadily, although he didn't let it show, until finally he was ushered through a door into an airlock. The air was cycled, and one of the new Keepers reached over to remove the rebreather. That was nice, too. _Which is such a poor word t' use, _he thought absently, _ma English teacher would'a slapped me silly._

The inner door hissed open, and he was propelled through.

It was a large room, circular, filled with equipment; diagnostics tools, machinery, consoles, displays, scanner, most of it Bug, some of it not; it was all, however, technology the IOA would mess their pants for. The ceiling was high, and large lights glowed at regular intervals. One entire quarter of the vast wall was glass, through which Observers, and a new rank he hadn't seen before, watched. There were chairs, desks, touchpads, interactive desktops, holo displays, _keyboards_. His tools were set upon a worktop, _all_ of them.

He saw none of it.

His entire attention was focused upon the structure rising from the centre of the room, waist high, as wide as he was tall. Obviously damaged, but still the beautiful, sleek technology that he knew so well, technology which was most definitely _not _Bug.

Amazement, incredulity; excitement flared in the same moment that despair crushed it and horror turned his legs to jelly, his stomach becoming lead.

He knew _what_ they wanted him for.

Feet with a mind of their own carried him towards it; he couldn't turn away. _He knew…_

As he approached, a hologram flickered into existence, life size, rising from the centre of the circular station, gazing directly at him, expression impassive.

And he knew why they wanted _him._

It was Alteran.

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ------

Just in case anyone has managed to forget, The Alterans, also known as the Ancients, look _just like us._ So, here's the frustrated Bugs, sitting on this marvellous technology they can neither fix or use, and lo! The spitting image drops right into their laps, all nice and gift-wrapped. Bet they can't believe their luck

You may have noticed he's picked up some of their language. Lets face it, if a dog can learn commands primarily through repetition and rewards for accuracy, I'm fairly sure that someone of his intellect can manage to pick up a few passing phrases, especially when the incentive is _not _getting beaten.

And just in case you were wondering, he's hallucinating. She's not real. I've been reading up on the effects of sleep deprivation, dehydration and starvation, and this is one of them. He needs her. '_His quiet sanity.'_

A quick note on grammar- 'nice' is actually a word you're meant to avoid using, but I can't for the life of me remember why. So yes, a proper English teacher in the 70's/80's would probably have disapproved.

Will try and get the next one up soon. I wanna be mostly complete by the time SG:U starts again in the UK, just in case it blows my entire plot all to hell!

-- --

The quotes?

*Emiliano Zapata.

**Unknown. If someone does know, please tell me. It's beautiful.


	5. Courage

You know what? I seriously wrote myself into a corner with the way I ended the last chapter. Stupid, huh? I have absolutely no idea how to start here, and haven't been able to think of anything since posting C4. Crud. I think I may just continue straight from there, though I do like to try and leave a space between chapters to give him something to reflect on. Oh well, let's see how it goes…

The usual. Not mine. Hey look! The aliens have a name. any errors, please through them at me (apart from the normal UK / US English ones :))

If I've got any of the techno stuff stupidly wrong, please let me know, and I'll change it. I think it's all correct tho!

Much darkness. Poor Nicholas. He doesn't have any luck. Seriously. Remember: Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they aren't out to get you…

I'll reply to reviews for the previous chapter tonight when I get home; don't worry, I haven't forgotten ya'll. When someone takes time to write me a detailed review, I like to take time to reply in kind, and I forgot to bring the notes I'd made to work with me today. I like to do everyone at the same time…

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

_I love his work. Vivaldi is good, but often too florid. Mozart too depressing. Bach is better_

_Better?_

_Better. More in tune with the world, dramatic without being over the top. His Cello pieces are beautiful, they sing across the senses, and-_

_And ye can lose yourself in them, fly, leave all t' worries o' t' world behind_

_I knew there was a reason I loved you._

_They're nae as beautiful as you, though._

_Romantic. You mess up my hair, Mr. Rush, and you're sleeping on the couch. Be warned_

_Memoirs, Music of the Soul_

* * *

With infinite reverence, he stroked trembling fingers over the consoles, slowly making his way around the station. The style was much the same as that of _Destiny_, and he assumed that whatever ship this had originally come from must have been commissioned around about the same time. What could possibly have happened? How long had it been here? Though the _Destiny_ was technically millions of years old, her physical age was actually measured in the hundreds of thousands- one of the side effects of travel by Faster Than Light was the compression of time; hundreds of years on the outside, against days within the protective bubble created by the FTL drive. There was no way of knowing how old it was just by appearance. As he moved, he was aware of the hologram slowly rotating to follow him; never once did it turn away.

Completing a circuit, he stood a moment, collecting his thoughts. Really, this was too big. His mind felt scrambled, high, yet numb at the same time. An Ancient interface? It was the last thing he could possibly have dreamed of. Where did he start? The damage caught his eye, and he turned towards it. _That's as good a place as any_. His knees protested as he crouched, and he remembered how damaged _he_ was. Aches and pains that had been driven from his mind by the shock came flooding back, and his head spun. Catching hold of exposed metal work, he jerked backward in surprise as it broke off in his hand, leaving him unbalanced, and he sat heavily on the floor. _Jesus…_

At least from here he had a good view. From a quick visual inspection, he was fairly certain the initial damage had been caused by an explosion, one that had been intense, as evidenced by melted metal (and it took a _lot_ to melt this stuff) that had cooled into bubbles, but not enough so that it obliterated the workstation entirely. _Not localised, then? Weapons fire?_ _One of the conductive relays?_ He scowled. The Bugs had compounded the problem by attempting 'repairs'. He could see distinctive tool marks, smooth areas not consistent with the overall texture, clean slices and perfect holes; there were remains of their technology protruding from the mess where they had obviously tried to gain access and failed. He reached carefully within, running his fingers over the surface, using sensitive fingers to 'see' in the dark his eyes could not penetrate. Wiring, crystal circuit boards, shattered crystals that nicked his fingertips, there would be so much to do, and he would be doing it alone. With surprising fondness he remembered the time spent with Lieutenant Johansen, pouring over _Destiny's_ medical arrays, teaching her both the Ancient language and their systems. In complete contradiction to what he had expected, he had found that he enjoyed her company; she was a quick study, possessed of a sharp, analytical mind. Her biggest problem was her tendency to allow emotion to override practicality, but he didn't really blame her for that. She was female, after all and besides, he'd had plenty of practice in setting such things aside, focusing solely on necessity and the work at hand. He had no idea why he had agreed to let her help him- his mouth had engaged before his brain and he could have kicked himself. He'd been half afraid that she would drive him to distraction, that she wouldn't have the intelligence or the aptitude to keep up. Not that he thought her stupid, but they were quite obviously in two different leagues. He had been happy to be wrong. He wondered what she was doing now.

It was a pain he didn't allow to take hold. Gingerly, he rolled to his knees and slowly pushed himself upright, moving physically away from such pleasant memories, reforming the distance in body and mind. If he let them in, such longings would drive him mad. Resting with his backside against the control, he finally took time to gaze about the room, taking in everything he'd missed before. _They've really pulled all the stops out for this one_. Scary thought. Tubes and cables snaked away into other consoles, into the walls and the floor. They'd figured out how to power it, maybe even managed to access some of the databanks, though doubtless they'd been unable to do anything with it. How many years had they stewed over it? All that incredible technology, touchable and yet out of their reach. Most likely some of the lesser systems had been reverse engineered, were probably incorporated into their ships and constructions already, but all the rest? Not a chance. With a shiver, he wondered how much of an advantage that little would have given them over other races in this galaxy. What new terror could they wreak with all this power at their fingertips?

He wasn't a good man, he knew, but in that silent moment of incredible clarity he made a decision he knew would, if he couldn't escape, ultimately cost him his life. They could drag him through all the circles of Hell, there was no way he was being responsible for the suffering this race would inflict upon the galaxy. It was a strangely liberating thought, even as it weighed heavily upon him. They would be insistent, he knew, would use sheer brute force, but bodies would break and die when subjected to enough abuse, and it was doubtful they would dare attack his mind, not if they wanted him able to figure this out, something he could only do sane and in full charge of his faculties.

_Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear *_

Then courage he would have. _I guess I can be that sort of person after all, _he thought wryly. Small comfort… Gathering himself, he turned to face the hologram, opened his mouth, but before he could speak he, _it,_ beat him too it and he blinked, forcing the mental switch from his native Scottish to Ancient. The voice was typically smooth and cultured, modulated to calmness and lacking in emotion.

"In outward physical appearance, you appear to be _Anqueetas; _it is this units' assertion that you are not."

_No shit._ "Correct," he responded, striving to match its' tone. "I am, however, a descendant of theirs, albeit many thousands of generations removed, from the planet Earth, once home to those we call Alterans, or_ Anqueetas, _if you will."

"Intriguing." It studied him for a long moment. "For a child of such a young race, your grasp of our language is impressive, even if your accent is atrocious." _Ye what?? Cheeky prick! _When it continued again, its' tone was resolute, carved in stone. "It is against this unit's directive to give such technological or scientific aid to the younger races, particularly that which will result in their bearing an advantage, however significant or otherwise, over others; advantage which may or may not be used to their gain. You will not succeed where the K'rechǽ-v'rass have failed; you shall have access to neither the information nor the technology this unit possesses."

His head spun. "I have no intention of aiding them-" It interrupted.

"You are of flesh and blood. Regardless of your intentions, it is inevitable. You will break."

There was silence.

Needless to say, they didn't get off to a good start.

* * *

He had gotten nowhere.

Admittedly, he had intended to pretend that this was the case, but for it to actually be reality was galling. He had worked non-stop, every iota of his concentration focused on the station, to the point where even the pain had receded, but everything was still as much of a mystery as it had been in the beginning. It was infuriating. There were few people who understood Ancient technology as well as he, and only one other who might, _might,_ have greater aptitude in this area, but he doubted even McKay would have better luck.

There was no way of knowing how many hours had passed. With no view to the outside world, no clock, and no dimming of the lights to simulate time, he had only the grittiness of his eyes and the deep ache in his head to go by. Upwards of ten hours, if he was any judge; having worked literally for days on end in the past, he was usually pretty good at guessing how much time had passed by the way his body felt. True, he had cheated by relying on coffee, fags and aspirin, and he hadn't suffered any of the abuse that had recently become part of his life, but even factoring these things in, it couldn't have been more than a day. For one thing, the headache, despite its intensity, was still just a headache, not the evil little migraine which was generally the first sign he was overworked and over-caffeinated.

There was no way of telling what the Bugs –the _K'rechǽ-v'rass- _thought of his lack of success; there had been no retribution for his failing, but they could not have been happy. _Maybe they have more patience than I give them credit for_. There would be a limit to it, though. They would expect results, and probably soon. His intent to feed them tidbits and false leads, just enough to keep them from torturing him while he searched desperately for a way out of this mess, may well fall short, and he would be left struggling to justify his failings. It wouldn't be pretty; the thought made his stomach flip.

Rolling over on the narrow cot, he pulled his arm over his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the light. Pretending it wasn't there didn't make it go away, though. _Actually, maybe _this_ is the punishment- more sleep deprivation, just of a_ _considerably less malicious nature. _And why not? It wasn't physically damaging, not in reasonable amounts, anyway, and his mental abilities would only be slightly decreased. The problems would start cropping up if they made it a regular thing, though it would be hard to tell whether it was lack of sleep, dehydration, or malnutrition that would cause potential ailments; many of the early symptoms were the same. _An' I'm already dizzy, sick, and irritable. All par for the course, I guess…_With a sigh, he turned again, praying his stomach wouldn't rebel against the movement. The food had been different again, unfortunately worse than normal, and he really didn't need to be being sick right then. He was just beginning to doze when a tick started up in the vastus lateralis muscle of his thigh, and he jolted awake, choking on a frustrated curse. Digging the heel of his palm into it, he spent long minutes trying to ease it away. Settling again, he stared at the wall, mind both overactive and numb, wishing for a sleep that just wouldn't come.

"Why do I seem to be spending all my time telling you to sleep, sweetheart?"

He sighed, relieved; he'd been half scared she hadn't followed.

He needed her.

* * *

"Oh, for _fucks_ sake!!"

How the hell had that gone so wrong? The program he'd spent many painstaking hours writing at a separate console had been perfectly sound- right up until the moment he had uploaded it. The Keepers around the room stirred as he kicked the table out of sheer frustration before turning back to glower at the hologram.

"What did you do?"

Its only response was a slow blink, hanging there impassive. _Damn it!_ _It_ hadn't done anything, _it_ was a shitty little hologram, designed to answer questions, and maybe make suggestions under the correct circumstances, _not_ re-write his bloody programs. _Bollocks._ The scientist paced away, trying to calm himself, before returning to the console he had started at, bringing up the program again, side by side with the data he had collected from the station as everything had gone tits up. There wasn't much. Nor was there any definitive answer as to 'why' it had gone wrong, or even a specific 'when'. He had watched helplessly as not only had the program become irreparably corrupted, but his algorithms and equations had incorporated themselves (or rather, _been _incorporated into) the security systems of the Ancient station, in short strengthening it against any future attack he might make. It shouldn't have been possible; the functional language he had written it in should have been secure, but something had gone right through the syntax into the root language beneath. It was, he could appreciate, a fantastic defence feature (although that didn't mean he had to like it), and was probably the major reason why the Bugs hadn't gotten anywhere. He pinched the bridge of his nose and slumped heavily into a chair. He'd spent a good half day working on the theory alone, without the time he'd spent actually _creating_ it, and, not to sound like Eli, it wasn't _fair_.

Thoughts of the young man were uncomfortably painful, and he closed his eyes briefly, refusing to well up. _I'm tired, that's all_. Nicholas was well aware that he'd not been particularly kind to the boy recently, but then; it's always hard to be nice to someone who's spying on you, and not even doing a particularly good job of hiding it. Even so, he rather felt that he could forgive Eli right there and then; his company hadn't been so bad and he'd gotten pretty good at tuning out the youths' inane blathering when it had degraded into the meaningless and trivial. To his surprise he would have welcomed one of those awful movie quotes or one-liners Eli had been so fond of. The spying had been a necessity, and he was practical enough that he could understand the reasons for it, though he knew it would be beyond the comprehension of most of the 'crew'; a person on their own had the potential to be sensible, whereas a group tended to descend very rapidly into a mob mentality, and as Young was so fond of saying 'these are the wrong people'; they would revert to a base nature with very little provocation. It was this that needed to be monitored and any troubles nipped in the bud before it escalated; no, what pissed him off was that he'd been singled out for special treatment, and that it had been _Eli_ doing it without question. The old anger stirred, but dissipated quickly; his future prospects were bleak enough that chances are he'd never again have to worry about it. Still, he missed the kid. As with Johansen, he shoved the thoughts roughly aside and turned bodily away.

The swish of the pressurised door opening drew his attention, and he turned instantly, automatically tense. A Keeper moved across the room with swift, economical strides, and deposited a tray on the table in front of the observation window. _Wonderful._ It didn't stay. Knowing what was expected of him, he carefully made his way over, picking his way around workstations and cables; he refused, however, to stand there and eat watched by the Observers on the other side. Turning around, he sighed; the hologram was staring at him instead. Honestly, what was the fascination with watching him eat? Or did they all do it because they knew it irritated him? At least he could pretend the Keepers in their opaque hoods weren't looking at him. With a groan, he sank to the ground, facing away from the glass, his back against one of the cable interface couplings protruding from the metal floor and the tray on his knees. The taste made him shudder, and he turned his mind to the problem.

Starting where he had was obviously futile; the approach that had worked onboard _Destiny _was useless here. He needed to go back to the beginning, get right back to basics. That might help. Right now, the most important task was going to be understanding the defence mechanisms; it would be pointless trying anything new, given that the system would probably absorb and adapt to anything he did. All that would do is cut off another avenue, and he didn't have many of those in the first place. He needed access to the units' database with a desperation that he hadn't known even when they were dying for lack of air in those first few days on the ship; without it, without knowing what he had to work with, all his plans were moot and he was working blind. Really, his overall situation hadn't changed all that much in the last… however long it had been. He still couldn't make any plans, because he had neither the resources nor the knowledge to make plans _with_, even though, frustratingly, both were here in the room with him. Whilst his location had changed, he was still stuck, no better off or worse than he had been when he had known nothing at all. _Moving sideways_. Fun. And he couldn't count on help from the hologram, either.

Finishing -well, finishing all he intended to eat, anyway- he set the tray aside, and stretched his legs out in front, crossed at the ankles. _Actually, screw the programming_. The most obvious place to start was staring him in the face; the physical damage. A small twinge of nervous anticipation caught him, and he knew how he would proceed. The bulk of his time would be spent slowly making visual progress repairing the station itself- they couldn't fault him for that; the rest of the time would be given over to writing clever little programs, some serious, some bluffs, that would hopefully give him the advantage he needed without the Bugs even realising it.

_Shit_.

Cold sweat prickled across his forehead, and he hauled himself sideways away from the electronics at his back just in time to heave what little he had eaten onto the floor. _That hurts…_ He dropped like a stone, metal pleasantly cold against his flushed face, the smell scant inches from his nose nearly enough to make him start again, and curled in on himself, shivering, belly cramping violently. _N'a good one, _he thought, miserably, and allowed his mind to drift a little from the discomfort. Hard pressure around his arms wasn't enough warning as he was pulled upright; fingers twisted through his hair and gripping his neck kept him there. Through bleary eyes he could see that angry visage of an Observer, half hidden by a mask of Its own. _S'nt my fault…_ Nicholas closed his eyes again, much preferring the darkness there to the sight of the creature before him. The hand at his neck shifted, and pain exploded just below the curve of his jaw. With a gasp he tried to jerk away, frightened, reached up to try and alleviate it; his forearms were caught just above the manacles, held in a vice, weight on his shoulders and hips locked him in place. He couldn't move. After a moment the pain dulled and the Observers' hands moved back into view; held in Its grasp was a thick needled empty syringe, the metal glinting a rusty colour. Strangely, he was beginning to feel better. Now_ they decide they have anti-nausea meds??_

'_Not good enough.' _God, but that didn't sound good.

'_Hold him.' _It let go and in a single fluid movement stood and moved out of his line of sight. It wasn't gone more than a minute before It crouched down in front of him again, holding a second syringe, this one filled with translucent pink liquid.

'_Arm.' _His left was forced out before him and held immobile. He looked over Its' shoulder, seeking something else to hold his attention, and realised with a start that the hologram was watching, as impassive as ever. It was distracting enough that it took the sudden sting to recall him, remind him of the tosser with the needle. It was remarkably careful, especially considering Its open hostility, but then, he doubted It wanted to rupture a vein- a trip to the lab was time consuming, after all, and he had work to do.

Once the vial was empty, it rose again; by an unspoken signal, he was released and slumped sideways in his sudden freedom. Intending to rest a moment, he leant back against the coupling, but before he had chance to settle a sharply hissed command saw him yanked to his feet and propelled towards the station; a sharp cuff to the back of his head made him stagger and clutch at the frame, narrowly avoiding slicing his hands open on the twisted metal. Rubbing at the sore spot, he happened to glance at the hologram; it was _still_ watching him. He growled at it, irritated,

"piss off." As per normal, it ignored him.

Right, two could play that game. Shakily, he made his way over to the workbench where tools were laid out. Pausing to catch his breath, he selected a handful, and shuffled back again. It was a relief to be able to kneel, before his legs gave out, anyway, and he fell, and he sighed, passing a hand over his face. _God, I'm tired_. With a sniff, he focused on the gaping rent and made a start, calibrating a scanner and running it slowly over the mangled innards. Stopping, he returned to the workbench, grabbed a tablet and pen -handy, that- and sat before the station once more. In Scottish, just to confuse the point, he began making notes; flipped to French part way through. He ran through tried and true standard diagnostic procedures, and after a couple of hours changed to English. Smirked. _Arseholes. Translate this._ There was no sense to it, but there didn't need to be for him to be able to understand it. The scanner bleeped at him, and he frowned. It had picked up on something out of place on the inside. Reaching in, he ghosted the fingers of his right hand along to where it should be, felt something brush against his fingertips. Stretching, nearly up to his shoulder he slipped, fell forward.

"Shit."

Well, at least he had it. It felt… actually, it felt like the fibre coating that covered Bug wiring. "Idiots." They'd, what? Tried to hack into the central column and broken a toy? Served them right. It came loose easily, and he went to lean back, realised instantly that he was in trouble; he was stuck. The manacle had caught on something, and despite the structure being fragile, he hadn't the strength to pull himself free. Panic began to stir and he twisted, felt broken metal slice into his wrist, forearm.

"Help?"

_Shit._ Even to him, that sounded pathetic. He jerked, growing frantic, tried to get purchase with his feet against the base and failed; slipping, his left foot struck something and he cried out in agony as fire flared, sharp stabbing pain that coursed up his leg, tears stung his eyes.

"_OI!!" _Ok, _now_ he was panicking.

Hands caught his shoulders in a grip so hard it stole his breath. An armour clad arm slid past his vision and into the recess; long, strong fingers wrapped around his elbow, and _pulled._ He gasped, eyes widening in shock as intense pain ran the length of his arm, and he fell back against the Keeper as he came free. The scientist sat there a moment, stunned, staring dumbly at the blood that flowed in time to the deep throb of his pulse, before another blow, to the temple this time, made his ears ring and he sat upright immediately.

'_Stupid' _

Oh, no fair! How was _that_ his fault? He stared at the Observer that towered above him in dismay, realised with a sinking feeling that it was the one from earlier; It was not just angry this time, but _livid_. It stalked over, examined the bloody mess, and with a hissed _'Bring him' _It was moving to the door. _But…_ he was too slow to even try and protest. Rough hands held his head, claws digging into his cheeks as a rebreather was held over his mouth and nose, and they practically dragged him from the room. He wasn't allowed the chance to catch his step, and he stumbled all the way to the lab. The Keeper shoved him onto a stool in front of a low bench, stretched his injured arm out across the surface and held him firmly. _Wait…_

The long, sharp fingers of the Observer pulled at the deep wounds, and the scientist noted with fuzzy bemusement that, amazingly, his arm didn't hurt half as much as his toe did right then. He doubted it was shock- he knew _those_ symptoms well enough by now- but whatever the reason, he was glad. It moved way, then, revealing another Bug; Nicholas blinked- it was one that he'd seen yesterday -or the day before?-, in the observation room. Not an Observer, something else. Another cast? Though Its' gaze was settled on him, it turned Its' head slightly towards the Observer, and spoke softly. The Observer bobbed Its' head in agreement, changed Its' direction. A higher cast, then? _Well tha's bloody fantastic._ An Observer Supervisor? Boss Supervisor?

Despite the ache, he smirked. _I'm gonna go with 'Boss Observer'. _The B.O. studied him, no doubt curious as to what had caused such unexpected humour, but made no move to approach or castigate him. Movement drew his attention, and he watched in silence as the Observer returned, cloth grasped in one hand and a long thin tube with a tapered head in another. His amusement died as quickly as it had risen when the Observer laid one hand flat over his, pinning it down, wrapped long fingers of the remaining one round his elbow and began to wipe the blood away with quick, vigorous movements. He choked on a cry of pain as burning glass lanced through nerve endings, squirmed, twisted, but was once again completely, depressingly helpless. Biting the inside of his cheek didn't stop the whimpers from escaping; hot tears ran down his face.

Blood kept flowing. With a growl, It applied pressure, brought the tube across and, resting the side against the bloodied cloth, sank the head into one of the gouges, drawing it slowly along the wound. Something _green_ was pumped from the end and he gasped, trembling; the unconscious belief that it couldn't get worse was crushed as the damaged flesh began to melt. He screamed.

* * *

He was shaking violently as he sat on the floor before the station. Unable to lift his right hand, he was forced to make use of his left, and the going was slow. It was nigh on impossible to make a start on fixing the damage one-handed, and so he settled on slicing the irreparable metal free with a laser cutter, just to be seen to be doing _something_. The Keeper standing close behind shifted and he flinched. It made no other move though, and he turned his attention back to the work. It was here to make sure there was no repeat of his earlier 'stupidity', he was certain of it. _Like I'm gonna do tha' again… _They'd brought him straight back to the work room, shoved him inside and he'd collapsed in front of the unit. The rebreather had been wrenched off, but the manacles, despite having caused the problem in the first place, remained. It was a weight he could have done without. Sniffling, thoroughly miserable, he wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. All he wanted to do was sleep. No, all he wanted to do was _escape, _but he'd settle for a few hours of oblivion. _Away from all this…_

Rubbing a thumb across his eyes, ignoring the smell of vomit that lingered on his fingers, he squinted at his notes, wishing he had his glasses. The raging headache wasn't helping his vision, but even so. The tablet slipped and he caught it, jarring his arm in the process, eliciting a soft wail of pain. Pressure thrust his head forward, and darkness briefly swamped his senses. Involuntarily, he looked down. The sight of the blistered, concaved flesh turned his stomach and he gagged, fighting the bile that rose in his throat. _I'm nae looking. I'm nae… _It was unavoidable, the image was burned in his mind.

_Please…_

God, how much begging had he done?

_How much more was there still to do…?_

"They'll let you rest soon." _Really? That'd be nice. _He didn't believe it, though; they were too pissed off with him for that.

"Have faith." _Sorry, left that in a six foot grave on Earth…_

"Oh, hush, sweetheart." She sounded oddly exasperated. Still, her fingers on his neck were gentle, soothing. He reached up to clasp them.

'_Work.'_ He jumped, brought back to reality. Trembling fingers teased free a broken crystal, set it carefully aside.

It had not been a good day.

* * *

The following day had started a little better. He'd slept relatively well (for a given definition of 'well'); she'd been right. After a few hours they must have realised how increasingly useless he was, for they'd hauled him back to his cell and left in a heap on the floor. He had managed to drag himself to the cot, and had spent the 'night' sleeping with her sitting by his side. The agony in his arm had become a constant painful ache on waking that made him grit his teeth; every time he moved it, it flared anew, and catching it made his knees go weak and his eyes water. Detaching his mind from the reality, he could examine it without feeling too queasy; it was raw and angry, but there was no obvious inflammation. Weirdly, it was also a peculiar green colour. He refrained from touching it, didn't want to acknowledge it as real. Though at first it hadn't felt like it would, the lumpy gloop for breakfast stayed down, which made a pleasant change. He still felt shaky, and for the most part his mind shied away from thinking about it too much. He was getting good at that. _Elephant in the room…_

The hologram flickered into existence as he entered, but was silent, simply watching him. "Well, I hope yesterday was entertaining enough for you," he snapped irritably in Scottish. He had the dark satisfaction of seeing it frown slightly, before turning away, ignoring it entirely. As he'd planned before everything had gone so horribly wrong, he started at a separate console, and began the tedious task of building bot-programs. It took several hours, a passage of time he only noticed when a hand clasped his shoulder, pulling him round and bodily moving him to the table where food had been set. Automatically yanking himself free was a bad idea; the smack to the side of his head exacerbated a headache that had so far only been a mild niggle and made him stagger. _Pillock,_ he scolded himself, and unwittingly flinched as It raised a hand again. Pleased, the Keeper left.

"Cunt." He winced; Gloria would have been _most _displeased to hear him say that. _Sorry…_

He carried the 'food', although he hesitated to call it such, and water back to his work. Layer upon layer of basic, passive algorithms formed a complex structure designed to be totally non-invasive. With luck, it wouldn't register as a threat. Still… moving to a second console, he began creating a second bot, the intent of _this_ one being to draw attention to itself. He wanted to know how rapidly a reaction would be triggered, and, if possible, the course of action it would take.

Loading both onto separate data crystals, he sagged forward, suddenly exhausted. The timer he'd created showed more than six hours had passed since he'd eaten. Straightening with a groan, he placed his hand to his head and turned- jumped out of his skin with a yelp at the B.O. standing behind him. It closed the distance, and he shrank away from It; It reached past, one hand closing about his arm, the fingers of the others dancing across the controls. Leaning back, it stood still a moment, before letting him go and making a gesture; he was grasped from behind and he stiffened in alarm- the hated mask was clasped to his face again, and he was being led away, all in the space of less than a minute. Once the airlock had cycled, the B.O. removed Its' own rebreather, and took the lead.

The lab.

"But I'm _fine!" _His struggles merely resulted in long fingers twined through his hair, fingers that pulled _up _as well as forward, as though he were a puppet, and he had to tiptoe on legs that felt like jelly to keep his hair from being ripped out. Forced back onto the stool and restrained again, he began to hyperventilate as panic clawed at his mind, banished sanity and reason. _What the hell could possibly be wrong?_ An Observer grabbed his arm, turned it, examined the blistered scarring, ran none to gentle fingers over the half-healed wounds sending frissons of pain shooting through him, then let go, conversed briefly with the B.O.

And that was it.

The sob of relief as he was pulled to his feet drew an amused sound from his Keeper, but he didn't care. His knees shook with enough force that he worried they'd give out completely on him, his whole body trembled; cold sweat soaked the t-shirt. The rational part of his mind that had been absent for a while was glad he hadn't wet himself. He didn't notice the journey back to his cell, scarcely felt the rebreather being removed. _Too much…_ He slumped to his knees and crawled to the far corner where he stayed, shivering, until exhaustion claimed him.

…. … .. . .. … ….

Something drew him from fitful slumber. He remained perfectly still as his eyes traversed the room, but there was nothing untoward. Uncurling himself, he moaned as stiff muscles protested. How long had he slept like that? He was blessedly calmer, and was grateful for it; he didn't think he could spend too long in that state. Why it had elicited such a dramatic reaction, he wasn't sure, given that the neural interface was far more violent and terrifying. He shrugged it off as being drop-dead tired, refused to examine it too closely, and turned his thoughts to what had woken him. A sound? Where?

Trying to stand was a waste of time; his legs had gone to sleep. Instead, he crawled back to the door, sat with his ear pressed against it. _There_…

He caught his breath. _Music??_ A melodic, rhythmic sound, both repetitive and varied came in waves of differing tone and pitch that tingled across his senses, and he rubbed arms suddenly covered in gooseflesh. _How…_

_How could a race that made such beautiful music and intricate art be so unequivocally hostile and cruel?_ Dead weight settled beneath his breastbone, and he swallowed against the lump in his throat, closing his eyes.

-0-

'_I love his work. Vivaldi is good, but often too florid. Mozart too depressing. Bach is better.'_

'_Better?' He teased._

'_Better,' she affirmed. 'More in tune with the world, dramatic without being over the top. His Cello pieces are beautiful, they sing across the senses, and-' She stopped, looked at him. He smiled, understanding._

'_And ye can lose yourself in them, fly, leave all t' worries o' t' world behind.' She smiled in return, _

'_I knew there was a reason I loved you.' She sashayed across the room and carefully adjusted his bowtie. Satisfied, she stretched up and kissed him softly. _

'_They're nae as beautiful as you, though.' His hands slid up her neck, cupping her jaw lightly, brushing fair locks._

'_Romantic. You mess up my hair, Mr. Rush, and you're sleeping on the couch. Be warned.' The twinkle in her eyes bellied the threat, though, and he grinned as she smoothed down his jacket_

_Y'knae, I never would'a thought I'd wear one of these'. He fingered the black bowtie before she slapped his hand away._

'_Oh, pish! Leave it!' She laughed. _

'_The couch is plenty big enough for two…' he murmured, eyes sliding down her form as she turned away. She looked back, arced an eyebrow, tilted her head back, proud beneath his appraising gaze._

'_Be that as it may, Mr. Rush, such tests will have to wait till after the concert.' He smiled again, followed her. There was no denying it, he loved the orchestra as much as she did. Reaching out, he smirked, gently stroked her shoulders, sliding the straps down her arms. Her eyes smouldered._

'_Mr. Rush, whatever would my fiancé think?' She pressed against him, breathing against the side of his neck._

'_Never mind your fiancé, what about mine?' She laughed again, slipped away to gather her coat, rearranging her attire as she went. She smile was decidedly wicked as she looked him up and down._

'_She'd probably think herself a very lucky woman,' and then she vanished out the door._

_He blinked, realisation dawning. Minx! Held his coat in front of him as he followed._

_It was just as well there was a couch, and that it was big enough for two. They didn't make it to the bed when they returned home._

-0-

He crawled back to the far corner, huddled there, buried his face against up-drawn knees and folded his arms over his head, desperate to block out the sound outside and the memories within. He didn't want to think about that. Those nights were too bright, too happy; they didn't belong here, in this place. _Where better for them?_ Light in the dark… _I can't_

_Gloria…_

"Right here." There was nothing she could say, though, not right now. They both remembered those happier times with too much fondness, joy so blazing it burnt. _So many wonderful years_... Her presence would have to be enough. He wasn't sure it could be. The haunting melody continued to fray his nerves, pulling at the fragile threads of his tired mind, stirring sorrowful memories. Digging the heels of his hands against his ears, he began to hum, loud enough to drown out the music. Didn't feel the tears on his face, didn't realise he was rocking.

Sleep didn't come again that night.

* * *

The lack of adequate rest was obvious in both thought and action. Repeatedly, he had to re-read his notes before they made any sort of sense, he barely understood the work he'd completed yesterday, spent precious hours reading through line after line of code, only to realise he'd forgotten the beginning. It was unbelievably frustrating, destroying. They'd come, eventually, after years alone in the crowded emptiness of the cell; rescued him from the deafening silence and the ghosts that haunted his mind. He'd been glad to get away to the workroom, hadn't balked at the meal, had waited patiently as they'd fitted the mask. If they'd been surprised by his apparent enthusiasm, his eagerness to leave, they didn't show it. Doubtless they'd report it, but he simply didn't care. They could think what they liked, draw whatever conclusions they wanted. He couldn't stay _there._ The lead in his soul should have dragged him down by now, through the floor, _into the salted earth,_ where he could be numb to eternity. _Why hadn't it?_

_Why should it? That would be a relief. Sn't like you deserve it, Nicky; you're not a nice man…_

A shove, and he staggered; his knees gave. He clutched at the console, slumping.

'_Work.'_

_Why?_ Fingers in his hair hauled him to his feet. It turned out physical pain still overpowered the mental. He winced. _That's why…_

He gave up on reading. His work from yesterday was fine, he knew. To hell with double checking. Retrieving the data crystals, he moved towards an interface attached to the Ancient station on legs he couldn't feel. He'd find that sensation weird tomorrow. Maybe. The hologram tracked his progress across the room, expressionless as ever, and just as silent. It was the thoughtless work of moments to insert the crystals and transfer the data. Synchronising with the station, he uploaded it, and watched. Time ticked away, and suddenly data began pouring down the screen, most of which he ignored, it wasn't what he was looking for. To his surprise, the programs worked as planned. He hadn't expected it to be that easy. _Everything else has gone wrong…_

Keeping his focus on the new data appearing, he absently touched the screen a number of times, highlighting data he wanted to study in greater depth. _What the hell?_ He touched a line of text, expanded the search in that direction. The result was electrifying. Eyes wide, he drew breath in a sharp hiss of shock as he realised what he was looking at, heard the sound mimicked somewhere above him.

The scientist looked up instantly, locked eyes with the hologram which stared at him, stunned. Except… it wasn't a hologram at all. Not even an interactive hologram. _An Artificial Intelligence._ That explained so much. He gaped.

'You…' knowing what it was was half the battle. Knowing meant he could beat it, evade its' attempts to stop him. _He could get in_. He'd dealt with AI's before, though admittedly not one this complex, and he knew what he was doing. It wouldn't be easy, but at least now he could precisely plan his attack. _Wait a minute…_

'It _was_ you!' It raised an eyebrow, querying. 'Yesterday - the day before - argh! Whenever it was. _You_ rewrote my programs!' The AI _was_ the defence system. _Shit…_

It sighed. 'Of course. They were clever, but not nearly good enough. This is… unexpected. '

'It's always been you, hasn't it? _You're_ the reason they haven't been able to get anywhere.' It all made sense. The AI had been stalling them, and they'd have no idea whatsoever. Hell,_ he'd _had no idea, either. Still wouldn't if he hadn't filched one of McKay's algorithms. _I might actually thank him if I see him again._

'The K'rechǽ-v'rass are not nearly as advanced as they believe they are. They have made some small progress, but only with items they have been able to remove. It has been easy to keep them at bay, prevent them from accessing the main systems.' It frowned. 'You, however, are an unanticipated problem.'

He looked down at the data still flowing across the screen. The Bugs wouldn't understand it; it'd take them years or even _decades_ to acquire the necessary aptitude. He could easily corrupt it. Fingers moved as he had the thought, and he began building hidden folders, folded sections on the data-drives that they wouldn't be able to access, set triggers to move pertinent information out of sight straight away. They'd never find it.

He slowed as a thought tapped at the window of his mind. Stopped to let it in. Looked up again as excitement soared. Hope bloomed in his chest

'_Please.'_ He would beg. It _could_ help him, easily. And he could help it, remove the technology forever from their hands.

'No.'

He practically wailed. 'You don't understand!'

'I fear, child, it is you who does not understand.'

He was so close! 'But-'

'_NO.'_ Its' expression softened, slightly. 'I _am _sorry, but I _cannot_ help you'

_No, you _will_ not…_ Big difference. He rubbed his eyes. _Don't cry…_

'_Please…' _he whispered_. _

It flickered out of existence.

* * *

Another morning. Another fitful nights' sleep. If she'd been there with him, he hadn't known it. The rest of the day before had been spent in shock. Then, as now he was numb; he'd eaten without tasting, worked without thinking, followed blindly behind his captors as they'd led him too and fro. He couldn't comprehend it. The AI wouldn't even _listen._ It was his only way out.

He knew he'd been led back here, to his cell, but didn't remember the journey. Anger had stirred when the shock had largely faded, overpowering, for a brief while, the crushing despair that sucked at his strength and his will, and then had faded away again. _It wouldn't help him. _Son of a bitch! Why the hell not?

When the data flow had stopped, he'd been pulled away. He hadn't resisted. The B.O. examining his work had actually shown excitement; here was progress. It may not have understood it, but it knew that whatever this information was, especially given the Doctors' reaction, it was massively important. When he'd been allowed to return to the console he's worked on autopilot, tablet at one hand, his right operating the controls without thought, he didn't feel the pain.

The painful thought beat at his mind: _He wouldn't get out_. He was stuck here. The belief that he could circumvent the AI had slowly faded as he'd read more and more of the data that had spewed onto the screen. He wasn't sure he could. _Another failure._ It was a long list.

He stared at the food bowl on the floor, he'd eaten some, not much. He'd had to do his belt up another notch, the combats kept slipping down bony hips. He knew he'd lost too much weight, could count his ribs, make out the distinct curve of the clavicles and humerus' through the t-shirt. Whatever he was eating, he obviously wasn't digesting properly, as evidenced as much by the weight loss as by the time he spent with the mess bucket. He was starving to death, and he knew it. Unsurprisingly, he didn't care. He'd stopped being hungry a while ago, an irony of malnutrition, and was in no hurry to attempt to eat more of that slop. He licked cracked lips and hugged his knees, stared at the mottled, angry flesh of his arms. When was the last time he'd felt properly warm? He didn't remember.

_So tired._ The door hissed open, but he didn't bother looking up.

Another morning. Business as usual.

* * *

The mask was pulled free and he was pushed forwards. Staggering, he managed to catch himself, but a second shove had him on hands and knees. A strong hand grabbed his upper arm, hauled him upwards and moved him quickly, awkwardly towards the workstation. He stumbled from the difficult angle, caught the edge of the console as he was released. _Really, enough already._ A smack to the back of the head, and he realised he'd spoken aloud. _Enough! _All the frustration and rage and fear that had lain hidden beneath the despair surfaced with a vengeance, and he snapped. Red clouded his vision as he spun, and literally launched himself at the Keeper, a feral snarl escaping his lips.

_This is really stupid, you know._

Oh, but he was past caring. It staggered backwards beneath the unexpected onslaught, and he pounded at it, kicked, screamed insults and curses. A single blow felled him; he scrambled to stand. _No way in hell!_ A second blow and something in his shoulder snapped. He didn't feel it, but he certainly heard it.

_Seriously, man, Stupid. Capital 'S'._

Why did that sound like Eli? Dazed, he fought again to rise, couldn't understand why his left arm wouldn't support him. On his knees, he swung round with his working arm, only to have the wrist grabbed, _twisted_. Bone popped. A fist to the juncture of his neck and shoulder made the entire right side of his body go numb. He was pulled upwards, struck again; chest, abdomen. It dropped him. He didn't move.

Something was deeply wrong. The blow to his belly had resulted in an intense, yet dull _thud_ somewhere inside and he was completely paralysed, though as yet he felt no pain. Could taste blood though. Lots of it. Breathing was hard. Something had ruptured? He closed his eyes, tuned out that terrible hissing and chittering of K'rechǽ-v'rass voices, concentrated on her gentle fingers carding through his hair.

Not the ending he had hoped for, but it would do.

* * *

There was brightness. Not a surprise, but not entirely expected, either. It was quiet. He didn't hurt.

He blinked. Drew a deep breath.

Felt cold though. He frowned. _Really?_

Blinked again, turned his head. Couldn't register what he was seeing at first.

The cell? _What?_

He raised a hand to his face, his left, the one he knew was broken. _Only, it wasn't._ Studied it in detail. There wasn't even any bruising. Raised his right hand. The hideous, cauterised scaring was practically healed, only a silvery scar remained. _He didn't hurt._

He sat up suddenly, and his head didn't spin. He was naked, the clothes piled on the floor beside the cot, cleaned. He reached up suddenly, touched the back of his neck; reality hit like icy water as he discovered the brand still there, no longer painful but unpleasantly prominent. He began to shake.

_I don't understand._ He looked around, frantic, desperate for an explanation. _I'm nae squinting. _

_Nothing _hurt, not even the teeth he'd thought were rotten. It _had_ been weeks, after all. Everything worked perfectly, like it hadn't done for years. His eyesight. The ache in his wrist that came with cold weather, where he'd broken it in '97. The teeth that _had_ been pulled out. Everything he'd suffered since being picked up by the K'rechǽ-v'rass down to the muscle wastage and missing nails- it was all gone.

He felt hysteria bubble in his chest, the shriek caught in his throat.

_Don't do this to me. Oh, please God, don't do this._

Regeneration. They possessed regeneration technology.

He wasn't getting out. He couldn't die, and couldn't escape. The AI was right. _It was inevitable._ He would break. He couldn't stand this forever. They would have what the wanted, and he would go mad.

He freaked. Nails scratched at his throat, his wrists; pain kept him from doing any serious damage. Even his body worked against him. He screamed and collapsed back onto the bed, curled into a shivering ball.

_Men in exile feed on dreams of hope**_

_And if there is no hope to dream of?_

He wept.

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

Quotes:

* Ambrose Redmoon

** Aeschylus

Umm, sorry. One chapter to go, possibly two. Depends on whether I can split it. You know the expression 'it's always darkest just before dawn'? Well, yeah. There's a couple of things left to happen to tie this story into _'Reflection', _some personal some circumstantial_. _Anyone wanna guess what? It's not really cropped up yet.

Oh, and in case anyone's worried; no, I am not doing the whole Farscape Jon and Scorpius/Harvey head screw thing. That would be plagiarism. Bad-bad. She's a product of his own mind, not a plant put there by the Bugs. Relieved, anyone?!


	6. Sorrow

There may well be errors, especially towards the end; I'm rushing, big time! You'll find out why at the bottom

Have another chapter, another bit of 'Reflection' explained

Hmm, I know people are reading this, I've had 79 unique hits on C5, but I've only received two reviews- huge thanks to Celtic and Mr Evil :). Has something gone wrong with the review submissions? Did no alert go out? I don't mind and I'm gonna finish regardless, but the feed back is really useful. If people are losing interest, will it be worth me posting a sequel? I know I said I didn't mind not getting many reviews, but there've been 352 unique hits on this story. Massive thanks for everyone who has review so far- u're all super!

Anyway, enjoy :)

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

_You're going._

_Come on, seriously?_

_Seriously, yes. You never go, and poor Bess has been asking both of us for years. She's beginning to think you're not interested._

_I'm not._

_Nicholas! You're going. No excuses, no last minute papers, no experiments, no problems to fix, no crises' to solve. Nothing. I don't care if the fate of the world itself rests on your shoulders; it can wait. You are going._

_Trust me love, you'll have fun. At least, it won't be as bad as you think. You trust me, don't you?_

_Umm… Aye?_

_Good._

_Err…_

_I'm thinking 'Zombie'. You'd make a very handsome zombie._

_Should I be insulted?_

_Take it as a compliment- I'll still think you're a catch in the afterlife, too!_

_._

_._

_Memoirs, entertaining the neighbours_

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

'_Get up.'_

The command didn't really register

'_Move.' _

He ignored it. Cold hands dragged him off the cot, dumped him on the chill floor. He shivered, remained where he was. Fingers in his hair hauled him upward into a slumped seated position; a sharp slap to the face drew a shocked gasp of surprise, eyes snapping open. The scientist stared dumbly at the form before him; reality began to bleed through and he straightened a little, hoping to relieve the pain in his head. Satisfied, It bent low, keeping him where he was, and, grasping the clothes, tossed them at him.

'_Dress.' _

That required an effort he didn't think he could make. It shook him, and he whimpered, reached up to try and grab the hand in his hair, desperate to alleviate the pain. It knocked his hands away; struck him again.

_They can start again,_ he realised dully. _They didn't have to be particularly cautious anymore._ The thought was heartbreaking. He was breakable, but no longer fragile. Fumbling for the t-shirt was enough to satisfy It, and It released him; he barely caught himself from falling sideways. Heavy arms didn't want to cooperate and he struggled desperately, yet still not fast enough for Its liking. The Keeper hovered close, impatient; every pause was greeted with a slap, not particularly painful but each a stinging shock, and every slap made him more frantic, clumsy, more likely to stop and try and gather himself, and he sobbed for breath trying to flinch away from the blows. _Please. Stop._ His wits were completely scattered by the time he finished dressing, and he remained on the floor, hugging his knees, trying to pull himself together and slow his racing heart.

'_Eat.'_

Nicholas raised his head and gaped at It. The Keeper pointed to the shelf and repeated Itself. Turning in the direction It indicated, he saw the usual two bowls. It couldn't be serious.

"Please…"

A hand wound round the back of his neck, claws dug in, dragged him across the cell. Again he tried to reach for it, only to receive the same response. All he could do was try and keep up. It let go, and with shaking hands he lifted the two bowls to the floor. Falling back into the usual pattern, _liquid, food, liquid, pray,_ he slowly consumed most of what had been set out, enough to please It, for It left. He lent sideways against the wall, drawing his knees up again, dropping his head to rest against them. _I can't…_

There was no telling how much time passed before the Keeper returned, he wasn't making any attempt to keep track, but the contents of his stomach had barely had chance to settle when the door hissed open again, and he was pulled away from the safety of the wall. It froze when he gagged, allowed him precious minutes to calm himself, before attaching the rebreather, and dragging him from the room.

This would be the pattern of his life, he realised miserably, right up until the moment when he finally lost his sanity and was of no further use to them. There wasn't any choice; even if he cooperated, things probably wouldn't change. He couldn't die, couldn't leave, not without the help of the AI, and couldn't drive his own mind over the edge. There would be no option but to endure whatever they did, yet he didn't see how he would manage it. _Catch 22…_the mere thought of his future turned his bowels to water, and he shook. He was desperate for a salvation he knew wouldn't come; prayed for someone to save him. There was no one. His own actions had led him here. He was completely and utterly alone.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He worked slowly under the watchful gaze of a B.O. His Keeper had joined those stood at the walls after a brief conversation with Its' superior that he hadn't really paid attention to, his focus being on the Ancient station. _I hate it._ That was a startling development. For once, the AI hadn't been there. He wondered if it knew. _Probably._ He hadn't bothered with the consoles, had gone straight to repairing the unit itself and had drawn things out as much as he dared. It wasn't hard; his mind wasn't really on the job at hand, and the constant distance of his thoughts had slowed his pace considerably. Food came, as disgusting as usual, and he paid no attention to what he ate. Maybe if he ignored it, it'd go down easier. Working slowly was still working, however, and in time he had completed his self imposed objective- remove all the Bug technology- and moved onto the next task on his mental list. He continued the tedious job of stripping out the ruined metal; at least both hands were working this time.

A hand on his head made him flinch, curl protectively away, and stiff muscles complained at the sudden movement. Turning, he was forced to twist his neck to look _up_ at the Keeper looming above him, followed Its arm when it pointed at the observatory window. Bowls were set on the table. Resigned, he did as instructed, and, like he'd been doing recently, returned to his work to eat. Something nagged at him as he ate a second time, but it took a while for the thought to penetrate. When it did, he frowned; they didn't usually feed him twice in this room. He looked down at the tablet, noted the small timer in the corner that had started automatically when he switched the hand held on, and blinked. Sixteen hours. Glancing down at the remaining slop, his stomach twisted, and he hurriedly set it aside. Why? Were they were trying a new approach?

_Did it matter? _He sighed. Didn't look at the time again.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He hadn't dreamt. Not at all. Still, he didn't feel particularly rested. The second meal in the workroom hadn't stayed down, nor had what he'd eaten on returning to the cell. The aching cramps had kept him awake long into the rest period, and he didn't remember falling asleep, only waking to the sound of the door. Breakfast was the same, and the Keeper made Its' irritation known.

The AI was waiting when he arrived. Its' brow furrowed as it tracked his movement and it sighed, but held silent, opting instead to watch him intently. Not that that was anything unusual. He was setting the bowl aside after the normal break when it spoke quietly, and he jumped at the intrusion.

"Do you understand, now?"

The scientist stared at it, wondering where the anger was that such a preposterous question would usually raise.

"Seriously?" It had the grace to look uncomfortable. "No."

It seemed genuinely pained. "I cannot give them aid; would not even if I were able to. Can you not understand this?"

"You won't even hear me out." He whispered.

"What is there to say? Any help I give you will, in time, be acquired by them. That cannot be allowed. Do you understand?"

How could they find a compromise, when neither refused to be moved? Choosing not to answer, he closed his eyes and lent back, allowing the grief to engulf him. He didn't see it leave.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He jerked awake from a restless doze. _Something _was tickling the corner of his mind, powerfully shunting aside the despair that had dogged him even into his half wakefulness. It was important.

_Wait. Don't rush it_. Even with a mind like his, that was always a mistake. It would come in time. He stared at the ceiling, waiting.

_There…_He smiled. _Of course. _He'd wondered at the time, when he'd surreptitiously flicked through some of the information he'd hidden from the K'rechǽ-v'rass, why he'd felt a frisson of anticipation run through his mind. He hadn't realised at the time, hadn't had chance to examine it, just _knew_ that something important was staring him in the face.

"Not quite the plan I had in mind," she whispered, sadly, "but I suppose it does make sense."

_I'm sorry. I can't think of anything else…_

"I know. I understand, love." He felt her tremulous smile, her support and faith, even through her sorrow. With a heart lighter than it had been in eons, he slept.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

Nicholas pushed himself to a kneeling position, wiping his mouth with the back of a trembling hand. He felt _awful._ Sudden pressure on his arms was the only warning he received before being shoved aside and he winced as his elbow impacted the floor. The blow caught him full in the face, and he fell onto his back, momentarily stunned. Unsurprisingly, he hadn't seen it coming. _Rarely did._ He remembered all of a sudden to breathe; only realised he'd closed his eyes when a shadow blocked the light through his eyelids. He opened them in time to see an armoured hand reaching for him; he flailed in a useless attempt to get away before it closed around his throat and hauled him to his feet, and further- toes scuffed pathetically at the ground as he scrambled for purchase. The grip didn't relent, and panic twisted through him. The pain in his belly was forgotten as the blood roared through his ears; flecks of light and colour dazzled his vision, and his body grew impossibly heavy. He almost missed the chitter, didn't understand it, but suddenly he was falling, drawing in air in terrible, ragged gasps as he lay on the floor. Rolling onto his side he heaved again, dryly, his throat raw.

Suddenly he caught his breath in a harsh sob of pain, clutched at a hand that was once again tangled through his hair as it dragged him across the floor. The relief at being released was incredible, but short lived, as weight settled across his chest; pressure turned his head away and he closed his eyes, knowing what was coming, but still he jerked against the stab of fire in his neck as the needle was inserted into the carotid artery.

He continued to lay there after, limp, despite the kick to his thigh.

'_Get up'_

_How?_

'_Move. Work!'_

Somehow he managed to roll onto his side, didn't know how he got back to his feet. They let him be as he stumbled to the console and he clutched it, hard, desperately fighting to stop the violent shaking that wracked his body. Swallowing hurt, and he quickly realised that breathing through his nose was difficult, made him feel like he was drowning. A ginger examination revealed the bridge was already swelling and blood smeared his finger tips; licking his lips he could taste it, a copper tang that made him grimace. It would hurt when the shock wore off, he knew. Precious red liquid dripped down onto the display, and he shivered, looking at it.

When the shaking had subsided enough that he could stand upright unaided, he split the screen, allocating the smaller part to his own research, the rest displaying normal technical information. The day passed slowly, and he shuffled painfully between the console and the station where he kept running the two separate lines of query. The sheer volume of information was vast, reading it time consuming, but he studiously picked his way through, and every time he committed a block of information to memory, he locked down that area of research with a randomly generated key. Accessing it would be difficult for him, impossible for them, and he prayed fervently they wouldn't find out.

All that he read was interesting, and under other circumstance would have been both intriguing and exciting, but right now it was a frustration he frankly didn't need; it was in the way, clogging up his time, keeping him from the knowledge he sought. He couldn't _not _read it, though- there were too many useable snippets hidden within, and he could feel frantic irritation building at the time he was wasting.

_Stop it! It'll still be here tomorrow_. It was true. Unfortunately, the same applied to him. He closed his eyes, drew a careful, deep breath ignoring the ache in his chest. He slowed his pace, saved it at the current spot, and shut it down. For once luck was with him; the hairs standing up on the back of his neck drew his attention to a presence behind him, and he froze, turning slowly. He stepped aside as the B.O. approached, watched as It ran Its gaze over the screen. It voiced a cluck of irritation before leaving, pointing to the table as it did so.

_Yumm…_

No gloop, just liquid. _Thank God…_ He was too terrified to eat. Retreating from the table, he looked up to find the AI watching him, its gaze unfathomable.

"Tosser."

The word obviously didn't translate, but he was too tired to find its' confused expression amusing, and he raised the bowl to his lips. The water was soothing to both throat and stomach, and he sighed softly. Maybe they'd finally gotten that right. _Too much to hope for. _He returned to the station, ignoring its' stare, and picked up the tools he'd been using earlier. There was still so much to do.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

The weight the regeneration had put back on his thin frame was rapidly falling back off, and he hitched the combats up over his hips yet again. Had he realised sooner, he'd have tightened the belt; he'd obviously not set it to the same hole as the day before when he'd woken and had simply not noticed - it had been a rushed awakening. As it was, pausing to redress himself in the middle of the corridor wouldn't have gone down well, though he wondered if his fidgeting was annoying the Keeper yet. If it was, there was no response.

Through the doors again, and the rebreather was removed. He gently rubbed the sores that were developing on his cheeks- that thing wasn't comfortable. Broken nails caught in his beard and he winced. Ignoring the AI, he moved to a console and took a moment to examine his reflection in the screen. It was dull and blurry, but that didn't matter. There was no mistaking the fact that he looked like shit. About the only benefit was that his hair was so greasy and matted with filth that it stayed back on its' own accord. He touched his nose, traced the twin panda eyes, and sighed. Well, it's not like he'd ever of won a beauty pageant before, either. Maybe a Halloween fancy dress…

'_You're going.' He fixed her with a pained look, knowing from experience that tone meant trouble._

'_Come on, seriously?'_

'_Seriously, yes. You never go, and poor Bess has been asking both of us for years. She's beginning to think you're not interested.'_

'_I'm not.'_

'_Nicholas!' She sighed, narrowed her eyes at him, approached with hands on hips. 'You're going. No excuses, no last minute papers, no experiments, no problems to fix, no crises' to solve. Nothing. I don't care if the fate of the world itself rests on your shoulders; it can wait. You are going.'_

_Kicking one leg over the chair she straddled his hips, grasped the collar of his shirt. He dropped the pen. 'Trust me love, you'll have fun. At least, it won't be as bad as you think. You trust me, don't you?' Leaning close she kissed him deeply; all thought vanished_

'_Umm… Aye?'_

'_Good.' She was up instantly. He blinked. He'd just agreed? How did she do that?_

'_Err…'_

'_I'm thinking 'Zombie'. You'd make a very handsome zombie.'_

_He blinked again. Huh? 'Should I be insulted?' Her smile was wide._

'_Take it as a compliment- I'll still think you're a catch in the afterlife, too!' she moved from the room, humming, swaying to a music he couldn't hear, and returned a few minutes later with a large brown bag. He eyed it suspiciously._

'_And just what is that, Mrs. Rush?'_

'_Oh, just a little something I picked up, Mr. Rush. In your size.' He watched with mounting dread as she began emptying said bag, stacking items on the table beside him. White lipstick??_

_She pulled the ragged grey clothes from their bag, tossed them at him. 'Go try them on.' When he didn't move, she added, 'now!'_

_It was the work of more than an hour to get him dressed to her satisfaction, and when she was finished she left the room. He studied his reflection; he felt ridiculous. He raised his hand, and her voice drifted in from another room_

'_Don't touch that makeup!' __H__is hand fell as though burned. Really, a fancy dress party? Him? Well, at least he wouldn't be the only one looking like a prat. Movement drew his attention and he turned, caught his breath. She twirled._

'_You like?' He moved close, stroked the lacy neck, followed the silk ties down the front of the corset. Oh, my…_

'_Oh, aye. I think it'd look better on the floor though.'_

'_Consider it a present if you behave yourself.'_

'_An' if I don't?'_

_Her eyes danced. 'It depends how bad a boy you are.' She cast a critical eye over him, carefully kissed his lips._

'_As I said, a very handsome zombie…'_

- o -

"That was fun, wasn't it?" He smiled, spirits lifting a little.

Bringing up the double research, his fingers hovered over the console. _Please… _He set to work.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He was halfway there. The scientist knew that what he wanted to do was possible, it was just making it happen that would prove difficult. Not only would he be up against the K'rechǽ-v'rass, but also the formidable abilities of the AI itself. He doubted it would go quietly, and he prayed it had no idea what he was up to. He could go no further in the virtual world at the moment though, not until he fixed a number of hardware issues- primarily the blown power relays. He shut down his research, falsified what remained on the screen, and moved to gather a number of tools and Bug parts. All in all, it took him several slow trips to and fro, leaving him wheezing and light headed with spots dancing before his eyes. He made it to the station and allowed himself to slip down the side, dropping his head between his knees to try and reverse the drop in blood pressure. It took a while for the fuzziness to pass, and he wiped cold sweat from his forehead. Shivered. _I want to be warm again…_

"Why do you insist on defacing or hiding the very information which might earn you rest?"

Because… _Because we're of the same opinion. Because we both believe they shouldn't have this technology. Because we both want to safeguard the lives of others…_He didn't say it aloud. It wouldn't believe him. Besides, it was doubtful that they would let him rest if he passed said information to them; on the contrary, they would expect more. He chose to ignore it completely.

'You could try having a conversation with him.'

_It. And I've already tried that_

'_He_ would have to listen if you spoke over it.'

He sighed. _I'm very sure it can shout louder than I can_

'Yes, and his sensors would pick up your words regardless. He'd have to listen'

_It won't work._

'So stubborn. Nicholas-'

"No!" He froze. Had he just raised his voice to her? _I'm so sorry…_

"'No?' 'No', what?" He glanced up into the puzzled visage of the AI and scowled.

"None of your damn business." He looked down again. _Gloria?_

'Oh, Nick. Alright, sweetheart- I still think you're wrong though.'

He smiled, and shuddered with relief. She wasn't angry with him. He couldn't bear that…

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the new aches, particularly his throbbing jaw. They hadn't been pleased with the days' lack of progress, but no persuasion had encouraged him to reveal anything of importance. He'd gone back to the station to continue the physical work, and eventually the B.O. had begrudgingly accepted the small repairs he'd completed. He'd make a showy start on the power relays and crystals tomorrow, strip them out and hose them down, so to speak. There was much that would need rebuilding, and most of it would be a bodge-job; he hoped the AI wasn't capable of electrocuting him when it realised what he was doing. He sighed, settled a hand over his stomach.

_Please stay._ If didn't, but unfortunately being sick wasn't the problem he had to deal with that night.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

His arm hurt like a bitch, but there was nothing he could do. _If they don't find some smaller needles, I'm gonna run out of veins before long._ Repeated exposure had done nothing to help his phobia; rather, it was making it so much worse, and he fought viciously every time they pinned him down. He'd last eaten successfully at breakfast three days before, and he was sensing their anger gradually being replaced by worry; his body was simply not accepting the substitutes, and there was only so much good the pink saline and water could do. It was only a matter of time before the latter was rejected as well, and then he really was up shit creek. He hoped he was finished by then.

He set the final crystal carefully aside, and rolled his head, stretching the muscles in his neck and shoulders to no avail. He sighed, and rested his head back against the station. He hadn't bothered with any software in the last two days; no programming, no browsing, no trying to hack the system. Instead, he'd concentrated entirely on the hardware, and the result of his labour was spread about him in an orderly, yet seemingly chaotic, arc. He knew what everything was, and where each piece was placed, there was simply no apparent order to it. If he wished, he could instantly lay his hand on any item he wanted. He didn't demonstrate that, though; they didn't need to know he could work at a much faster pace.

"You will attempt to complete your repairs"

_Too fuckin' right._ He didn't respond, just as he hadn't every other time it had queried him in the last few days. Serves it right if it was getting irritated. _Bastard didn't talk to me for days. Weeks?_ It was hard to tell, but there was a dark satisfaction in repaying the favour. He wondered if it was growing anxious.

He looked about him. He'd turned to a B.O. the morning he started, a crystal in one hand, his t-shirt twisted about the other. Still on his knees, he'd mimed cleaning the crystal, and within half an hour a whole stack of cloth had been brought and set on a worktop. Now those cloths cushioned the fragile crystals and internal mechanics he'd extracted. Only a handful of the gems were still the original size, but that was no matter; he'd tuned them appropriately, and would calibrate the nodes, sensors and connecting relays to suit. No, those didn't concern him; his adaptation of the Bug tech did. The tests and simulations he'd run implied they would function correctly, but he knew best laid plans easily fell apart, and simulations in such conditions often weren't worth the loo-roll they were written on. The only way to know for sure would be to try it and see; not his favourite method, but there weren't exactly many options open to him.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

The better part of the next four work periods -he was loathe to call them days- were spent rebuilding the AI station, although several hours had seen him restrained in the lab hooked up to what could only be described as a drip following a collapse halfway through. It hadn't been fun, but he was largely delirious, so hadn't been able to pay all that much attention. Fortunately. His arms were now a series of scabbed track marks a junkie would be ashamed of, and he kept scratching round scabs from the side of his neck. That freaked them out, especially when he left them on the floor. It was the only ray of light, and he grasped it with fanatical zeal. Being smacked every time he had done it in the work room had soon brought an end to it, but he had fond memories of watching them shrink away and sidestep round.

At least now he felt marginally better, though it was rapidly fading. It was only a matter of time before they repeated the process.

The work had been incredibly convoluted, as complicated as he'd feared it would be. The various interfaces between the two technologies were tenuous, and he'd spent a great deal of time refining the connections. The two just did not want to mix. Easing out from the gaping hole, he took a moment to collect himself, before pushing carefully to his feet. His head sang, and he swayed, clinging to consciousness even as his vision greyed out. He could scarcely feel the metal beneath his fingers.

"You should sit." It sounded concerned, but he expected that was more for its own sake than his. Tottering to the interactive conjoined console, he brought up charts and graphs; inputs, outputs, fluctuations and variation, radiation levels, electromagnetic indicators, temperature displays- locked all these and more side by side on the screen. Moving back, he knelt again, rested his head against the cool structure, before flicking the first switch on the power adaptor. _Well…_

He watched as small pinpricks of light flicked into being deep inside the station, indicating that the new technology was powered and stable. Scrolling fingers up the pressure sensitive scale, he slowly increased power

"You should not be doing this," it whispered.

Guilt flared. He crushed it. "You should have helped me." Nicholas couldn't raise his head to meet its gaze. Instead, he crawled back to the console, pulled himself upright. Bringing up schematics of his repairs, he flicked to access controls, opened up power conduits and forced a connection between his handiwork and the station itself. Sparks flew, and he flinched, but it held, and with startling suddenness the dead parts of the Ancient device flared back to life. It was beautiful. _So was Lamia, an' look what became o' her…_He felt his skin crawl beneath the AIs' stare.

The hiss of the door drew his attention, but he didn't bother turning, he knew who approached. The B.O. stopped at the station, crouched to study what he had done, gently touching a number of components, before standing and moving swiftly to where the scientist stood. He shuffled out the way. The schematic fascinated It, and with a gesture to remove him, It bent Its full attention to the display. It would remain there throughout the night, studying the images even though It couldn't read the text, unhindered By the human it regrettably relied upon.

He wished It every misfortune.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

Days passed.

The first had been spent fixing his work; from the start, he had deliberately made the repairs fragile enough that if the Bugs tried to play around they'd break it again. They'd done exactly as he'd expected, and it had been a deeply unhappy B.O. that had woken him and rushed his passage back to the workroom. _Unhappy and aggravated, let's not forget that…_

He didn't improve the construction, however, no matter how much they wanted him too; he had quailed beneath them, gestured pathetically, flexed the equipment to demonstrate its 'unavoidable' fragility, and they'd bought it, at least for now. He wondered if the AI realised. It hadn't spoken to him all that day. Or the next.

Even now, five sleeps later, it was silent. It had stared, though. Oh, _God _had it stared. And he couldn't evade it, it was there constantly. On purpose, he expected. He had spent the last days reading for his own benefit; still using the double search. He'd set aside a minute portion for them, a volume that he hadn't increased at all, regardless of the hurt they caused him. He was too close, now; just thinking about it made him breathless. He still had much to do, but the knowledge that there was an end in sight, however far, gave him strength. The exercise in using K'rechǽ-v'rass tech to support Ancient had been a double edged blade; now, he needed to reverse the process, to find a way to use Ancient tech to access Bug.

Leaving the semi-solid food on the table, he slowly made his way back to the station with the other bowl in hand and sank onto a stool with a soft groan. He ached, everywhere, top to toe; even his mouth was full of sores, his lips cracked and bleeding. Not too surprising that, though. He looked down at the dry, scabby skin of his hand, turned it over to study the blackened fingernails he'd managed to crush- eventually they would off. He wondered how they'd react if he flicked them… He looked over at the glass separation and frowned. There were several Bugs in there; the B.O.s, two Bugs that he hadn't seen before, and others that reminded him of the hoodless Bosses he'd seen way back when. In fact…

"They are talking about you." The AIs' voice was filled with false cheerfulness. He jumped, startled, and turned to face it.

"Really? I'm happy for them." Intending to go back to ignoring it -_why had he responded, anyway? - _it spoke again, and it's words made him freeze.

"Oh, yes. They are not happy with you, one cannot think why. They seem to believe you are not productive enough."

He sighed, ignoring that for the moment. "You're fluent in K'rechǽ-v'rass?" Why should he be surprised?

"Of course. Only, they call their language L'krashie'kha; literally 'the Language of the Children of the Sand' there are dialects, but it is all basically the same."

"Very poetic," he snapped. Really, what did it want? Foreboding gnawed at him as he watched the two Boss-Bugs. He really didn't want to go back to the first planet. He knew he'd been running a risk giving them as little as he had, but there wasn't a choice. _A virus_ he decided. He'd build a virus and load it into the subnet- if he did it correctly, it'd be able to track down and delete any reference to the Ancients, their language and their technology, wherever it was stored. It would add to his workload considerably, prolong his time here, but it couldn't be helped. It's voice drew him back.

"They hope that, by the time they have finished deciphering what they have learnt, another one of you will come along. They are surprisingly patient in some areas, a true contradiction, no? After all, they never expected one after seven hundred years, and yet- here you are. It may take them that long just to understand your notes. They've discovered more since you have been here than in all that time. Well done." _Oh, the sarcasm. _It could choke on it.

_Wait…_

He turned, comprehension dawning; his growing horror must have shown.

"Yes. You are of no value to them if they are unable to use you. You are even too fragile, too ill, to be entertaining," Its expression was one of disgust. It continued. "You are an unnecessary drain on their resources, however small, and they are _nothing_ if not economical and efficient. Keeping you alive was of utmost necessity when you were compliant, but now… They cannot decide whether you are deliberately withholding information, of whether you are simply incapable of providing it, possibly as a side effect of your current physical state. This current conversation will determine which, and that decision will dictate the manner of your death."

_Oh God… _He was shaking uncontrollably, one hand clasped over his mouth, eyes wide. He was distantly aware that he was hyperventilating, deafened by the pounding in his ears, even as he slid to the floor and curled up against the metal panels. He could see the chair in his mind. They would take what they could, he knew- it was the last area in which he would be 'useful' to them. He bit his knuckle, stifling the panicked scream that lodged there.

_I'm not finished. _The thought tore through his mind, and he became aware of her.

'Just breathe, sweetheart, please. That's it; slowly, now. Let go.' She tugged at his wrist, gently. 'They're coming!' They were. One of the Keepers was approaching, no doubt wondering what was wrong.

'The water!' He realised he still held the bowl in a grip so tight it should have shattered, held it before him, grateful beyond measure for the commands; his mind had shut down. _Now what?_

'Throw it away.' Even in the state he was in, that registered as being a bad idea. 'Do it!' He did as commanded, and it skittered past the Bugs' feet.

'Cough.' He did so. It didn't take much effort, his harsh gasping had left his throat aggravated, and with sudden violence he vomited, a combination of liquid, stress and adrenaline. The Bug stopped, turned in the direction of the glass. He finished and lay limp for a moment, shivering, before pushing himself to a seated position and leaning back. No further approach was made; no syringe wielding B.O. entered the room. He closed his eyes and allowed her gentle touch to soothe him. _Close…_

'Silly,' she chided, 'please don't do that again.' She was terrified; guilt chased away some of the panic.

"Don't worry, I won't. I'm not finished." He repeated quietly.

'I know. You will.'

"Finished with what?" The melodious voice cut threw, and he opened his eyes. Rather than standing, he tilted his head backwards, just able to see the AI. _That's an odd angle…_

He was silent for a long moment as they stared at each other. He felt her nudge his hip, and resignation swept over him. What did it matter now? He tried to speak, had to cough and clear his throat, before continuing in a husky tone.

"I'd intended to destroy you. This whole facility if I could figure out a way."

"Why?"

True anger stirred for the first time in a long while. "_Why?! _Are ye really so arrogant as t' believe ye are t' only one who doesnae want these creatures gettin' a hold of Alteran technology? _Seriously? _Had ye bothered _listenin' _t' me, I'd a told ye that _days _ago!" Its' bafflement registered, and he realised it was having hard time understanding him. He forced a calm he didn't feel, dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. W_ho knew you could colour Ancient with a Scottish brogue?_ "Did it _never_ occur to you that I might believe the same as you? That the K'rechǽ-v'rass having this level of technology would be catastrophic? All I want is to get outta here. That's all I've _ever_ wanted, and I _can't._ I can't. I can't die, but I can't live like this. _I _can't allow them access to this level of technology, and more than _you_ can. So that's what I'm gonna do." He was rambling a little, and he knew it. She squeezed his thigh. Forcing himself back on track he continued, "So that's my choice, or at least it was. Take you away from them entirely. I was gonna tie you into the main generators; overload your relays an' create a backlash- blow this whole place to hell. Or just you. I'd a settled for that. It's the only thing I can think of, the only thing I can _do_ to stop them, and if they kill me now, they not only keep you, but everything I've done, too. I hadn't intended that. I was gonna purge their entire network of information about you, ruin them; all of this? It was meant to be transitory." He dropped his head back, wrung out and exhausted.

"Everything is transitory..." There was a long silence, whilst it weighed his words, and when it spoke, ever so quietly, the words were not what Nicholas had expected.

"You have incredible strength," it murmured. He twitched.

"No. I'm desperate, an' I'm tired, an' I'm scared out of my mind. I'm unravelling in ways I hadn't thought possible, an' all I wanna do is cry. I wanna go _home._ I wanna tell Eli I'm sorry, say thank you to TJ, tell Daniel he was right… an' I'll not get that chance, an' ye know what? It's ok, 'cause I was gonna do some _good._ Make some good out of all of this, and now…" he trailed off. The AI sighed.

"I know" He frowned, not understanding. "I've always known." Silence echoed outwards. _Always known?_

"I needed you to say it, to confess out loud. Your intent needed to be crystallised in your mind before I could accept it. Understand; destruction is not a method I can choose for myself. If such were possible, I would never have fallen into their hands. I have watched you, and wondered whether your seeming intent was genuine, and whether you would willing commit an act that would lead to your own death. Your life here may be terrible, but it is still _life._ Often the closer one is to loosing it, the more desperately one clings to it, as suddenly mere existence becomes precious. It is a mighty step to take; the distance between vision and practice is unimaginably vast, and one only becomes aware of the importance of little things, inconsequential things, of paths untravelled and journeys not taken, as one is about to let go and surrender them completely."

He was completely dumbfounded. _Was there _anything_ more ironic? _As much as he had wanted its' help, the AI had been waiting for him to carry out his plans. He giggled; instantly bit his tongue. _Shhh. Don't do that._ Completely overwhelmed, he slumped forward, drew knees up and hugged them tight. _Could things be any more insane?_

"They are close to a decision. If anything, your actions just now have convinced them that your physical and mental deterioration is at fault. It will be quick." It continued to watch him unnoticed. "Would you still do it? Can you? Is there any point in prolonging your own suffering for a goal you may not be able to achieve?"

Very good questions. He didn't move for an eternity, then slowly raised his head, propping his chin on bony knees.

"Yes…"

"And can you guarantee a complete purge of all their databanks?"

"Would you believe me if I said 'yes'? At the very least, to everything _I _have created…"

He didn't see it smile. "Given what you have achieved so far -against all odds- , and what you have done, I would. And I may be able to help you with that." Nicholas twisted off the floor, half kneeling before it. _Was there a chance?_

The console to his left, the one linked to the Ancient machine, chimed, and he was on his feet without knowing how. He didn't give himself chance to think as he made his way over as quickly as he dared; what was on the screen stole his breath.

_A Stargate. _He pinged the data across to a console he had not yet used -hadn't needed to, why make things easy for them?- and made his way over, dragging a stool as he went. Accepting the incoming data stream he skimmed through it, amazed, before loading it to the large connected screen directly above. A four foot tall schematic of a Stargate was displayed in all its' glory; layer upon layer of detailed illustration complete with annotation and links to further images. It was beyond stunning, and he drank it in.

"I would suggest you demonstrate elation." Brought back to reality with a start, his immediate whoop of delight sounded forced to his ears, but the sound carried, and both knew it would draw the attention of those beyond.

A sharp command echoed through the room, but he ignored it until hands caught his shoulders, keeping him from jumping as the rebreather was once again fitted. Rather than being led away, though, he was held in place. Nicholas felt cold air stream past him, and goose bumps rose on exposed flesh; a scant minute later and a hoodless, unfettered Boss stood beside him. _Is It one of the three? _He was certain It was, and that old sensation sent a chill down his spine when It turned to stare at him; his limbs unlocked when It turned away, and he shuddered forcefully.

If It was pleased with the information, he couldn't tell, but the B.O.'s certainly were. They gestured past him to points on the screen, accessed the console to change the view, emphasising areas of interest. Just as arguments were beginning - it appeared the technology of the Stargate had been a cause of dissention for a _long_ time- the Boss spoke, a sharp hiss of command;

'_Silence.'_ It was an order instantly obeyed. It turned Its' heavy gaze upon him once more -_could It know?- _before it left. _'Continue appropriately.'_

As he was being led away, he looked over at the AI, who smiled slightly and nodded. Unexpected relief flooded him; he was reprieved.

His execution was stayed.

----- ---- --- -- o0o -- --- ---- -----

He wasn't going to finish. It was disheartening to know he wasn't the only one to believe that; as his health rapidly deteriorated the AI became increasingly worried as it realised that the possibility of him dying anyway, ahead of time, was all to real, leaving all the technology they'd effectively 'bribed' the Bugs with in their hands. He'd been bringing up blood for the last few days, a sign that his internal organs were shutting down, but up until today he'd managed to keep that knowledge from it. He sighed.

"You do not have long."

He looked up, fixed the AI with a sad smile; "I know." The virus was complete. Ironically, the more information they had fed the Bugs, the easier it was to build a virus to hunt it down and destroy it; they'd created their own profile, matching their Hunter to it perfectly. It was one less thing to worry about,

"Where were we?" He asked, choosing to ignore what had happened. The AI allowed him that, there was little else it could give him; there was no sorrow in its' voice when it spoke.

"Diversity of language"

"Ah, yes." He smiled, cleared his throat. "There are approximately 6500 different languages spoken on Earth today -though only two thirds are 'common'- across 196 countries, Mandarin being the most popular, with over a billion speakers worldwide. To give you some idea, there is just under seven billion people on Earth, so that's a big percentage. English, my second language, has only about three hundred and thirty million, and yet is widely considered to be a global language of commerce. Go figure. Actually, you can thank America for that, when they chose to keep English as their primary language.

"Scientific data tells us that _modern_ Man has existed for about two hundred thousand years, and they theorise language may have appeared between thirty and a hundred thousand years ago. I know, big gap." An image loaded on to the screen; a weapon? He shivered. It was the last thing he wanted them having, but he knew it would hold their interest. Even though he intended to strip all the information from their data banks, he couldn't account for what they would personally remember. Pausing briefly, he began accessing the attached data, altering frequencies, energy inputs, outputs, source information, material density, mass and velocity ratios- anything he could get his hands on without making it look suspicious. They could build it, but he made damn sure the thing would incinerate on them.

The AI hid a smile. "Does it not become confusing? Having so many languages for so few people?"

"Yes, but there's always someone who can speak a language that needs translating, and a common language to translate it into for everyone else. We like to make things complicated."

It had become a pattern. They didn't really choose a subject, as simply followed a line of conversation, and had discussed everything from art to evolution.

"I wonder how greatly my language has changed over time. I still cannot decide whether your own language colours your pronunciation, or whether the dialect has shifted."

Setting it aside -he'd give it to the Bugs later, he returned his concentration to the mother of all firewalls that was driving him to distraction. If -_when_- he cracked this, the AI would have access to their systems, and they could start looking for the other half of the information they needed. Punching a hole through it was proving extraordinarily difficult though. Well, not entirely true. He could probably bring it down easily, but that would earn him a very slow death. _As opposed to?_ No, he needed create a natural pathway, trick the K'rechǽ-v'rass defences into believing a hole was meant to be there, and then make it 'forget'. He scratched his neck, flaking dead skin and dried blood onto the console.

"Pleasant." He snorted in agreement. The door open, and he turned; watched the Keeper move to the table and deposit two bowls. Watched it depart. That was a change. Since the 'breakthrough', he'd been largely left alone, on orders he suspected. The Boss wouldn't want his health to fail any faster than in naturally was. With a sigh, he did as expected, though the short walk there and back left him breathless and shaky. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Both water, that was surprising. Or maybe not, given that he couldn't eat.

"Both, I suspect; Scottish is a very hard accent to get away from, but we ourselves have noticed shifts in the Alteran language from different sources we have studies." He busied himself with his work for a while, building the courage to ask one of the questions foremost in his mind. "How long have you been here?"

"Seven hundred years." The scientist rolled his eyes.

"I know _that._ I meant, how long have you been separated from your ship?" _Ooo, what's that?_ Focusing in on a virtual hub, he transferred the data onto a dumb-desktop, and began picking away at it. _Could be a weak spot_.

"Two point eight five million years ago. Give or take a millennia." _Dear God…_

He looked up at it.

"Most of that time was spent shut down. I have no memory of much of the time between the attack and my discovery by the K'rechǽ-v'rass, only data fed by sensors that were not damaged."

It was beyond comprehension. "An attack? What happened?" He whispered.

"A highly advanced race, extremely powerful; they did not take kindly to what they believed to be a trespass through their territory. The ship, _Seeker, _was just entering the chromosphere of a star to recharge when it was attacked. The combination of the two power surges through open conduits obliterated most of the ship. I have -_had-_ defences in place to protect against such lesser eventualities, but nothing on this scale. Most of the _Seeker_ burnt as it attempted to turn out of the star into safer space; final disintegration took place over a semi-gaseous giant. Most pieces… dissolved in the corrosive atmosphere, but my shielding allowed this unit to descend below the toxic clouds to the surface beneath, where I remained." Its gaze was distant as it stared into the past. "The K'rechǽ-v'rass actually use the fluid metallic hydrogen found in the atmosphere of such planets in their energy weapons technology. It is how I was discovered."

They were both silent a long time. It was a machine, technically it didn't feel, but even so… there was a faint undercurrent there, not of pain, but rather of sorrow. _How…_

"What exactly are you?" It smiled, understanding the nuances of the question.

"I had wondered if it would occur to you. I am an evolutionary interactive artificial intelligence; all of the 'seeder' ships were. My programming is fluid, my experiences and interactions shape who I am. You have not encountered others like me?" Nicholas shook his head. "Then they discontinued us. Admittedly, we could be problematic, both in personality and software. I think of myself as an individual, rather than the collective thought process of a ship or advanced virtually accessible database. I know that I am unique. Each of us is. I also know that I am alone in this galaxy. My sister ships have long since left, and I can never continue my primary purpose. That is… difficult. It is my reason for being- pathing the way for those who came after. As you can guess, conversation has been somewhat limited until you arrived. I may not talk to myself, but the nature of my programming does not prevent me from thinking, and I have had _lots _of time to think."

Something flickered on the screen, and he looked down. Grinned. _Yep,_ _took me long enough to find ya, ya bugger._ He braced himself to spend the rest of that day hacking through the hub. Realising it had fallen silent, he looked up- it was frowning. Before he could speak though, it asked a question.

"How are you here?" _I was captured…_ Now was not, he suspected, the time for their games, though. Had it only just realised he was on the wrong side of the universe? "Your race cannot be this advanced, not in so short a space of time. How did you come to be here?" _Hmm, multi layered phasic programming? Interesting._

"A twist of fate. Ultimately self inflicted. I -_we- _cracked the ninth chevron puzzle in my home galaxy. We used a planet with a unique naquadria core to power the Stargate, then we," he sighed," -_I-_ dialed the ninth chevron address. It took us, as you will know, to _Destiny._"

"You reside upon _Destiny?_ The follower?" The scientist nodded, looked down. How would it react to that? "I think you had best start from the beginning." He complied, leaving nothing out, keeping to the truth, even when it implicated him in wrong doing. He strongly suspected it would know if he lied, and he really didn't want to loose its' trust now. Not now… As it was, the truth would weigh heavily against him. He worked on in silence once he had finished, trying hard to ignore the nervousness that flittered in his belly.

"Once again, I am at a loss where you are concerned. I suspect there is much that has led to the person you are, but really. Some of your actions are nothing short of childish." He squirmed.

"Had I dialled Earth-" It interrupted, impatiently.

"I know, the planet would most likely have been destroyed. Even so, you are not the person I thought you were."

"Is anybody, ever?"

"True." It gazed at him, thoughtfully. "You consider _Destiny _to be home?"

"Yes…"

"And you are responsible for her maintenance?"

"Largely, yes. I know the most, certainly." He winced as it raised an eyebrow. "It's true, though. Why?"

"I wish I had realised sooner. Not that it would have helped the immediate situation, but my plans would have been different." He was lost. "The _Seekers_ systems were failing, and there is only so much the automated systems can achieve. Had there been someone to maintain it, repair the external arrays when they failed, it may not have been caught. We would still be travelling…" Its voice trailed off. _So what does this have to do with me?_

"You should be on _Destiny._" He giggled, promptly bit his knuckle.

"No _shit?_ Really? Ye don't say. An' here I was thinking this was such a fun diversion." It was creeping up on him again, he could tell. Couldn't stop it though. He paced, felt his pulse quicken, breath came in short bursts. "'Cause I really wanna be here, I've enjoyed the sojourn _so_ much; it's the highlight of the last five years, an' that's saying something. Why don't ye-"

"Sit!"

He did so, straight onto the floor. He was suddenly aware of the reason for the AIs' concern; his heart wasn't beating properly. Bowing his head forward, he fought against the fading edges of his vision, the coloured bursts of light that swamped him. _So tired…_ he'd been doing so well, too. The fit slowly passed, and his sight and vision returned to normal.

"Better?" He made a noise of agreement. "Good. What I _meant,_ is that your skills are obviously necessary there, your ability to access this station is testimony to that. The others may well cope without you, but this is what you _do._ It is, I think, your reason." A sigh. "Now that I know you hail from _Destiny, _it may be possible to return you there. It does not change our current plans; this place and all this knowledge, _must_ be destroyed. But… yes, it may be possible."

He remained on the floor, bowed forward, staring at the ground.

"Shit…"

"If we can work out the path they will take-"

"I already know. It depends, however, on how much time has passed." This didn't feel real. That was fine. He could deal with it if it was all a dream; dreams didn't have to make sense. It was the only way he could approach this sudden shift and not run of screaming.

"I have known you 32 days." It said, quietly. _Dear God…_ he drew breath in a harsh gulp. Wiped his eyes. _Five weeks?_ He dropped his head. _An' that was just here…_

She patted his arm. 'Concentrate, sweetheart.'

"They should be at their third stop, maybe. It's hard to factor in the temporal differences associated with FTL. Providing they travel according to plan, they have another three stops before I loose them."

It blinked. "How-"

"I programmed our needs, _Destiny_ gave me a flight plan. I'll need to get hold of a Gate map. Figure out how to get from here to one of those three stops. It's doable." Excitement tingled; he beat it down.

"When you get acquire access to their systems, we can find one. It will be of no difficulty to plot a course. There is a stipulation, however." Its voice was stern, and he felt his heart sink. Didn't see it smile.

"I am coming with you."

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

He had worked far longer than he had intended, and he was feeling it. The euphoria of finally breaking through the firewall had worn off, and he was now working on a desperate autopilot. Between them, they began to hunt down the information they needed, but the going was slow. Every system had several layers of encryption, and they didn't know what was locked behind until they cracked it; usually it was nothing of import, and the constant failure was dragging at him.

"I have found the link to the sub-net." He looked up, squinted at it, tried to smile at the excitement in its voice. Tried to speak.

Collapsed.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

He was in the lab.

He was in the lab, and his arm was on fire.

He was in the lab, and there were voices, but he couldn't quite make them out. _Help. _Fingers against his face, sharp pain against either temple, and he snapped back to reality. Knew.

_I'm done in._ He couldn't even turn his head, doubted it was drugs- he could just about twitch his fingers, and his groggyness didn't feel drug induced. As before, the pain flared at regular points along his nervous system.

_I collapsed._ Again. Young'd get a kick from that, no doubt. _Young?_ He was unable to frown outwardly, _so tired, _but confusion ran through him. He struggled to place the face. It took a while.

'_We proceed as instructed. It is essential.'_ He watched the ceiling move above him. _Anti-grav sled. _Closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the view was different. Cold hands pulled his clothes off, and his shivering increased. Managing to twist his head to the side, Nicholas focused on a display operated by two grey robed B.O.s.

_That's a double helix. Isn't it?_ It looked wrong. He'd never been much into medical science, but Gloria had, and he was sure it was wrong. As he watched, parts fragmented, rearranged; new parts appeared, creating a whole new localised genetic sequence. Beside the bizarre genetic structure was the internal image of a human body; various systems laid over one another; cardio, neuro, muscular. _What? _Ah. _Was this the regeneration method?_ Maybe. _Explain the DNA…_

He couldn't. His mind wasn't up for the mystery, either. If it was as he suspected, though, it would buy him enough time. Maybe enough to finish his plans.

_And if it isn't?_ What else was there?

Hands lifted him and he jerked, gasping at feel of the cold chitin fingers. Unable to see where they were going, he started as he was laid upon the floor. Agony flared; he watched as tubing was inserted into veins and arteries; something shot into the back of his neck. Whimpered. All but one left. Light flickered on the edge of his vision, then the last one removed the rebreather. Stepped out through a force field. He managed to look around; this wasn't their technology. _Again…_

A yelp, and he jerked as water touched his skin. He couldn't pull away. It rose rapidly, and he struggled to keep his head above. Failed. _Oh God, please, please…_ He couldn't hold his breath for long, didn't have the lung capacity any more.

Sanity fled as he was forced to breathe, and liquid fire roared into his lungs. He convulsed, screaming out loud and in his mind.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

He didn't die. Which was disappointing. His mind had yet to return, but eventually the sheer horror of the situation became too much, and consciousness followed sanity down a long dark tunnel. It returned occasionally, and promptly left again. Much of the next eternity was spent in oblivion.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

There was no guessing how much time passed before the tank was drained. Again, it hurt too much to stay conscious.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

He woke to the dim light of his cell. Turning required monumental effort, but he managed it. Not even the sight of the B.O. sitting in the corner, watching, elicited a reaction. He was too numb.

'_Aware this time?'_ There was a 'this time'? How many times were there? Reflexively, he went to draw a deep breath. Choked on air. Back into the darkness.

---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ----

And again. He was curled on his side. He felt more aware now, though. Opening his eyes, he was instantly confronted by the sight of the B.O; It was still there, watching.

Something was wrong.

It stood, approached, scanner in hand. Crouching, it ran the device over him. Physically examined him with fingers and eyes. As fingertips brushed his lips, the peculiar sensation screamed into life.

Neither of them were wearing a mask.

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

Ok, you get another chapter, but it won't be for a couple of weeks coz I'm leaving for the airport in, like, 20mins!

Not made up, seriously: **Liquid breathing** is a postulated form of respiration in which a normally air-breathing organism breathes an oxygen-rich liquid (such as a perfluorocarbon), rather than breathing air. In theory, liquid breathing could assist in the treatment of patients with severe pulmonary or cardiac trauma, especially in pediatric cases. Liquid breathing has also been proposed for use in deep diving and space travel


	7. Update

Yo, peeps :)

Apologies for the lack of update; I haven't forgotten you, and I haven't given up. I've just arrived home from holiday, after having spent the last 5 days stuck! You should have had an update long before now, but I haven't even had chance to draft it. Sorry! You should get the final chapter this week.

Same applies to reviews for the last two chapters- I haven't forgotten any of you, but I had no time to reply before I flew out, so I'll get that done pronto. Promise!

Questions will be answered! Thanks to thelasteddis; the whole, 'how can this be their tech' question should have been hinted at in the last chapter, and answered in the next, but I completely forgot, so I'll tell you now- it's stolen. Well, I say stolen; spoils of war, if you want to look at it that way…

Anyway, I'll get writing tomorrow. I need some sleep! It's midnight here, and I've only just stopped. Still, halfway round the world in less than 30 hours when all the airlines are stuffed and we're not meant to have a flight ain't bad going

Laters!


	8. Run

Dear Santa

For Christmas this year, I would like precognitive powers, please. That way I'll never be caught on the wrong side of the planet again when a volcano decides to explode.

Cheers…

Still, I had it easy. I was only stuck for six days. People on our final flight had been caught out for much longer than that. Thank you BA for getting us home!

Sorry to keep you all waiting. It's been a fun week, honest. I've missed you guys. Can you believe, this is the first year I haven't taken a pad or even a pen on holiday with me? Damn it! I bought one in the end, ideas for the fic, as well as so I could draw. Helps keep me sane. And, best of all, cost me about 60pence. Really nice pad, too

Hmm, I haven't caught up on _any_ episodes since part 2 of the series started on tv, so I think I have about 3 episodes to watch. Hopefully, I'll get this fic completed before I start. I'll admit, I've read a few fics here, and I've realised that I'm well into the realms of AU now. Don't care though, I'm gonna finish it, don't want canon changing my ideas, though. Oh, and I caught an ad on Sky; omg, can you say 'rockin''? so looking forward to it!

I do, however, know for definite now that Gloria used to play the violin. Which is great, coz I'd always imagined that she could. At least _that's _canon!

Having read back through C6 (it's been long enough that I can't remember what I've written!) I've realised that it's full of spelling errors; I'll tidy these up later. I won't add anything that I'd missed to the chapter, as that'd confuse everyone who's keeping pace with me

Ah yes. Regarding the 'liquid breathing'- the film was The Abyss, a 1989 classic. I confess now it's where I stole the idea from. Love it. If you haven't seen it, go watch.

Usual disclaimers….

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

_Orion_

_Cassiopeia_

_Lepus_

_Big Dipper!_

_Can you imagine it? Other races, out there?_

_Hmm, aye. I don't believe we're alone, certainly. Can you imagine going there?_

_To the stars? Would you?_

'_Aye, but only if you came with me. You n' me, exploring the stars…_

_Romantic… I love you_

_._

_Memoirs, Star gazing_

_._

_._

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

"I have the Gate-map," the AI said softly. The scientist nodded, slowly bringing the consoles and screens to life. Everything was as he had left it. This was the first time he had been in the work room since- _No, no, no, no…._

"And I have plotted a course to each of the potential addresses you provided me with." The gentle voice drew him back. Had it known he'd nearly stumbled over the edge?

Probably.

He nodded again. Returning now to _Destiny_ seemed so very far away. Even if he got back, how would things ever be the same? They couldn't. Swallowing against the unpleasant taste in his mouth, he fought to ignore the myriad of new smells that invaded his senses. He'd fallen sideways out of his reality, and the universe had continued without him, unchanged, uncaring. He'd never belong again. He bowed his head, eyes tightly shut, hands grasping the edge of the console. _I can't do this…_

"I am sorry," it whispered. He couldn't stifle the small noise that escaped him. Another nod. And then, before he had time to engage his brain, to think, to change his mind, he asked-

"What-" But the words stuck, wouldn't come out. _No, don't tell me…_ He didn't want to know. Really, he didn't. Still, the AI understood the unspoken question, and the look it gave him was sad.

"Exactly what you fear, what you already know." It sighed. Silence reigned for a while, leaving each to their own thoughts, or in Nicholas' case, a _lack_ of thought that he was desperate to maintain. Absently, he brushed cold fingers over his lips, shuddered, eyes automatically seeking out the B.O. still in the room. Nausea swept through him as fragmented memories of the last few days rose in his mind, and he forced his attention away back to the AI. It was difficult. His focus wouldn't hold anywhere for more than a few minutes, the time it took for this thoughts to come full circle back to what he was trying to forget.

Picking up the touchpad –it was oddly jarring, disorientating, how everything was untouched-, he switched it on from standby, drew a ragged breath of surprise. The timer was still running. 83 hours. He _really_ hadn't needed to know that. Shakily, he reset the device and put it down. Too late.

_Please…_

Waking. Burning pain, deep in his chest. Drowning over and over. He gasped again, clutched at his throat. _Can't breathe…_

"Nicholas," the voice was gentle, but enough to cut through the rising hysteria.

He snapped back to reality. Blinked. There was no tank, no water. He wasn't dying without dying. Looking up, meeting the fearful gaze of his ally was enough to ground him, and he stared at it wide-eyed, pleading, wishing for it to never have happened.

"It… is not their technology, I have recently discovered. They 'acquired' it."

He'd already figured that out. Kept staring. Didn't want it to continue, but knew it would.

"It is not something they could invent, they cannot even duplicate it. They have nothing similar. They took it from another race, and like many similar technological acquisitions, have perverted it to their own ends.

"I knew about the regeneration. I have seen the results before. This? I had no idea." It faltered. "I…was able to access those systems…too late. I could not have stopped it. I know… you know…" It sighed again. Gathered itself. "You were dying, and they wanted to keep you alive, now that you are again useful. They knew regeneration would ultimately fail, needed a better solution. This…was planned, it must have been. The work was too complicated to have simply been thrown together. They probably began work on it after the first regeneration. You were taken straight there, the procedure begun immediately.

"From what I can tell, it is dangerous, nearly as likely to kill you as not, which is why they left it so long; they didn't want to take the risk. I did not know…" a pained expression crossed its face. "Do you want details?"

He shuddered, and jerked his head in a nod, not trusting himself to speak.

"You have already figured it out, I expect, though you do not want to acknowledge it. Your inability to breathe their air, eat their food, drink their water. They have corrected these 'failings'. You can survive in their environment. They have modified your genome, spliced new genetic code into your DNA to rectify these weaknesses. You have been…altered to suit their atmosphere and diet. You no longer reject their food?"

He shook his head.

"Then they are successful. You are no longer in fear of dying. In their eyes, they have improved you; you can survive here indefinitely. Not an option, of course," the AI hastened to assure him, "but even upon returning to _Destiny_ you will not bear the same fallibilities as those you left behind."

_How do I go home?_

"It's not…perfect. Breathing hurts. Burns." He managed to whisper. "I still feel sick."

Another sigh.

"Much of what they have done is an...educated guess. They do not completely understand it, but they are able to make such changes possible and sustainable. You are correct, it is not perfect. They are skilled, but not the genetic manipulators the builders of the regeneration tank were. Do not fear, it will not kill you."

_Wishful thinking… _Nicholas watched the B.O. again, It was the same one, he could tell. The changes ran deeper than the AI knew; or perhaps deeper than it was willing to discuss right now. The distant part of his mind still capable of feeling something other than debilitating horror was grateful that it didn't continue.

-o0o-

It turned away, and he remembered how to breathe, though drawing air into his lungs resulted in a deep, aching burn in his chest. _What the hell was going on?_ Healed fingers flew to his face, touching, searching. No mask, or tubes, or attachments. _But how..?_ It moved closer again, and the nagging in his mind ratcheted up several notches. Really, he was too groggy for this, couldn't focus well enough. It was definitely breathing the same air as him, though, and Its appearance was…wrong, he realised with a start. Couldn't put his finger on it. Closed weary eyes.

_DNA double helix gone wrong…_

His mind skittered away from that. He didn't want to know, that much he knew, but he also knew that he wouldn't be able to leave such a puzzle alone forever. _A human double helix. His._ Didn't want to understand, what little he couldn't keep from filtering into his consciousness terrified him.

_Breathing liquid fire. _

He gasped, eyes snapping open, and It fixed a sharp gaze upon him. With no further sound forthcoming, It returned Its attention to the pad It held. It was…different, _how?_ Wait. _Everything_ was different. His pulse raced, breathing sped up. Rubbing his eyes didn't help, the colour remained. Except, it wasn't really colour. A shimmer? Yes. Like oil on water, a shine across Its carapace. How could he not have seen it before? Like liquid when it moved. Swirls of it, almost metallic. The material it wore wasn't grey like he'd thought, more an unusual shade of green. It, too, bore a sheen, though much fainter; beautiful patterns adorned the collar and cuffs, ran across the chest, down the back between the multiple shoulder joints. So much that'd he'd missed. The walls weren't plain like he'd assumed, either. Faint shadows, ripples, texture he could touch with his sight. It left his dizzy, unable to focus properly, almost seasick, and his stomach turned. _What have they done to me?_

The air smelt pungent, like old soil and leaf mould. It tickled his nose. He could smell _himself._ Did he really smell like that? He couldn't block it out, there was no escaping it. There was too much new. He could see so much more, like he'd been blind before, and now the world was a riot he couldn't process. Even the _light_ was wrong. He curled on his side, facing away from the Bug; _heard_ It raise Its head to observe. He couldn't cope with this. Shivering, he closed his eyes. _It's a nightmare. It's not real_. _Please don't be real._

Blessedly, he was wrung out enough that sleep claimed him.

-o0o-

It hadn't been a nightmare, of course. Well, it had, but not one born from sleep. No, this nightmare was a waking one, one without escape or release. The changes had been just as pronounced upon waking again; the food forced down his throat had stayed, and didn't taste like it usually did, the same with the liquid; the journey to the lab had been a stressful one, flinching as he had at every corner, every glimpse of something he'd known and taken for granted and was now altered. The subtle changes were more disturbing than the obvious ones, flickers caught at the corner of his vision that made him jerk around, snippets of sound beyond human hearing that he strained to catch, and he was mentally exhausted when they'd lifted him onto a scanner bed and restrained him. He hadn't fought- what was the point? They'd already proven they could strip him of everything that defined who and what he was. He kept his eyes closed. _If I don't look, it's not true…_Didn't want to see the displays. He may not be a biologist, but he'd picked up enough from Gloria to have some idea of what he'd have seen had he looked, what he wanted to avoid, and now here he was, listening to an eons old Artificial Intelligence skirt around a truth neither of them really wanted to approach, knowing it was inevitable.

"What am I?" His voice cracked. _Twisted, broken, perverted. Less than human. Something wrong. Something that shouldn't exist. Vile-_

"Nicholas!"

He jerked, head snapping up to the AI who was struggling to hold the Doctors' sanity together. It had never used that tone before. He couldn't look away, and surrendered himself to the control in that stare, knowing he had none himself. He didn't like being reliant on others, hated it passionately, but now the AI was the only thing preventing him from falling apart, and he clung to it. With a stern voice and sterner expression it stated, firmly,

"I _said, _you are still human"

He couldn't help himself. He giggled. Didn't even attempt to stop. Tears squeezed from his eyes and his hands formed tightly clenched fists- he moved them away from the sensitive console. _Oh, wonderful…_

"You are," it insisted. He caught his breath. Hiccupped; started all over again. Really not his fault. _Please…_

Eventually he calmed, found that he was sitting on the floor. Tilting his head back to look at the AI, he found its countenance expressionless, never a good sign. _Oops._ Stomach dropping, he wondered how deeply he had disappointed it.

"Sorry."

It sighed. "Please refrain from doing that. It is most disturbing. Not to mention worrying. I have no idea how to bring you back to yourself. I abhor being so helpless." It winced, as though realising exactly who he was speaking to.

"Yeah, I know all about that." He stayed where he was, staring at the floor. The AI hesitated, unsure. The scientists' mental state was incredibly fragile, becoming more so every day, and they were both well aware of that fact. This…it may well be the final straw that destroyed him completely. When it spoke again, it opted for gentle cajoling, an attempt at neutrality that felt only somewhat forced

"Please, I dislike seeing you like this, especially when there is nothing I can do. Stand? We have much to accomplish, and the sooner we begin the better. Nicholas? Now that we have access to the Gate-map and sub-net, we should be able to work quickly. As I said, I have various courses plotted, and several ideas for your consideration, though we have much planning still to do, and I can not do so without you. You are again strong; let us make use of that. With you hale again, and unlikely to fall sick, time is no longer an issue…their patience is, and you are as aware as I that they will expect results soon; if we achieve nothing else, it is imperative that your virus is uploaded and we remove my unit from their possession as we originally planned. Please?"

Heavy silence fell for several minutes, before the man stirred with a quiet sigh, holding hands palm up to examine the perfectly healed flesh; eyes moved from wrist to elbow tracking invisible scars. One remained, he knew, had checked the back of his neck earlier. He was bodily strong again, and physically undamaged, it was just so…hard, it required so much effort, an inner strength that was at its lowest ebb. He wanted so badly to sleep and never wake up, to leave every horror and terror behind. To go with her… but he had made a promise, in a way, to remove the Ancient device from the K'rechǽ-v'rass' possession; he at least had to see that through.

"I meant what I said," the AI murmured, "your humanity is not in question, not ever. Even if they turned you green, with two heads and a tail, you would still be who and what you are. That is not something they can change. I rather expect that some people who are perfectly human are truly monsters, and some who appear less than human, through deformity perhaps, yet are exemplars of your race. You are still you, for better or worse, though I daresay there is room for improvement."

The scientist chuckled weakly, sniffled and wiped his nose before rising and moving back to a console.

"There usually is." The quiet that followed was a comfortable one, as Nicholas went through his notes and the information the AI had downloaded for him.

"I have been looking for information about this other race." The AI spoke suddenly. "There is a little in this area of the sub-net that is useful. They are old. Powerful. A formidable enemy. Or ally, depending. They defend their boundaries viciously, but they may be willing to treat with you. Or not. I do not know. No gate address for them is listed here, nor a racial name, so I cannot be certain, but I believe they were a space-faring race when _Seeker_ passed through; this races' current location is identical to that of a race we encountered in our early sojourn into this galaxy, though their territory then was considerably smaller. The K'rechǽ-v'rass despise them, probably because they cannot defeat them. I have downloaded what information I can. Perhaps it will come in useful."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Hopefully"

"Precisely. Hopefully."

Nicholas looked up at it then, and frowned. "Speaking of downloading. How exactly am I going to get you out of here?"

The response was accompanied by a mysterious smile. "Well, that took you longer to ask than I expected."

He scowled. "I've been busy."

"Indeed. Look across the unit, at the central projector. Do you see the rounded surface there?" He nodded. "It is actually a sphere, approximately two hands length wide, not particularly heavy. It is detachable, an independent hub. Within is a folded, compressed backup of the data stored in the external units' databanks, as well as my primary programming core. When the time comes, you will initiate its separation from the main unit, it will take a mere few seconds to complete. I cannot be accessed again until I am reconnected to an Alteran workstation, dock or power source. Oh, and speaking of; I have found this facilities' primary and secondary power cores." Its smile was smug.

The Doctor was speechless. Unable to wrap his mind around that bombshell for a moment, he asked another question that had been troubling him. His was beginning to focus again, and he followed that focus with desperate zeal. Something to hang on to, to distract him…

"If I can't access ye on our way out, how the hell am I supposed t' know where I'm goin'?"

"Covered. Every…_Bug_…-I do like that- bears a personal dialler. You need to retrieve one. I can then transfer the relevant information to it."

_Holy shite._

"I'm not talking to you anymore." That was ridiculous. He busied himself at a different console, back to the AI to hide the fact that his hands were violently shaking, refusing to entertain such a preposterous notion. What the hell was it thinking? That was suicidal, insane. In fact it was so far past insane, it may as well have been in the Twilight Zone. His fingers slowed. Actually, it was so terrifyingly insane it might work. He turned back. It was still smiling.

"You've figured that one out, too, haven't you." His voice was flat; it wasn't a question.

The smile widened into a grin that was positively malevolent.

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

'I knew you could talk to him.' He could feel her smile. Oh, she sounded smug.

_Where have you been?_

She sighed. 'I was here, you just weren't…aware enough, sweetheart. No, don't do that.' She said firmly, responding to the sudden flare of his guilt. 'And this last day, you've been so busy. He's been a big help, hasn't he?'

_Yeah, I guess _he_ has._ She smiled again.

'Good. Keep at it. I like him, and I think he actually likes you.'

_Hey!_ She laughed softly.

'Sleep, sweetheart. Not long to go now.' She stroked his face. 'You know how much I love you, don't you? How much I've _always_ loved you?'

_Oh, yes. Every day. You know I love you? I've never stopped?_

'Oh, Nicholas; yes and yes. Every day, without fail. But…maybe, sweetheart, it's time to stop hurting yourself? Maybe it's time to let me go…'

He sat bolt upright, staring at the wall. _What?_ No way. No possible way. He couldn't do that. Couldn't lose her. Fingers twisted at a non existent ring, and unbearable pain resounded in his soul. How could she ask that of him?

Her voice whispered from behind him. 'Oh, love, because it hurts me so much to see you punish yourself for something far beyond your control. I want you to be happy. I want you to be again the laughing man I married. I want you to find peace…'

That's what she thought? He didn't turn around. _My peace is with you._

She sighed, and he could hear the tears in her voice. 'I can't do right. Whether I stay or go, I hurt you.'

_No, never. Please…_

'Nicky… not now, love. I'll stay. Sleep sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake, I promise.'

He lay back down, on his side away from her, but his thoughts were too chaotic to even consider sleeping. She would leave him? Admittedly, she wasn't really- his mind jerked away from that truth. He needed her. _My quiet sanity…_ no less now than… years ago. Before… he shivered. _Don't go there._ No. She wouldn't go. She'd promised.

'Yes, I promised. Sleep.' She gently stroked his back, butterfly fingertips tracing lazy patterns on the t-shirt, before stretching out behind him, touching, wrapping slender arms about his chest.

'I love you. Don't forget that I always will, whatever comes…'

_I know. I love you too…_

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

"Bad night?"

"Or morning. Or afternoon. Whatever."

It hesitated, obviously not willing to poke the proverbial irritable bear. The Doctor ignored it, though he knew he was being grossly unfair, and pulled up the facility schematics. Plotting a couple of courses to the gate-room was easy, and the journey there would be quick, providing he wasn't waylaid by Keepers. He had much of the base committed to memory by now; stolen moments over the last few days when the Bugs weren't looking. Straightening, he groaned as bruised muscles protested. He'd managed to fall into a troubled doze, when scarcely a few hours later the door had opened and another day had started. His bad temper had begun on waking fully, and the Keepers had been rather heavy-handed in their disproval. Rubbing his jaw, he winced, eliciting a sigh from the AI.

"Please do not aggravate them too much? You will not go far with a broken leg."

He scowled. Turning back, intending to lash out at the AI, to vent his anger and frustration against it, despite the disapproval of the quiet voice that seemed to be his consciousness-_ it really doesn't deserve this, now does it Rush?-_ its sorrowful expression pulled him up short, and the anger faded. How did it managed to make him feel six inches tall just by looking at him?

_Because it actually cares, and you know it. Grow up, Nick._

"Sorry." He moved over, ran fingers over the console. Without looking up at it, he murmured, "yes, it was a bad night. And a bad morning. I didn't sleep well." The AI sighed again. It seemed to spend a lot of time doing that where he was concerned.

"Come, we should work on linking the facilities power core to my own." It made sense. In theory, it shouldn't be necessary; there was no reason why an attempt to remote detonate the base core should fail, but if it did at least this way the power surge from the unit exploding would feed back along the path and take care of it. With the added bonus, of course, that such would guarantee the units' destruction.

Moving to the adjacent console, he began tapping into the AIs' power core.

"Nicholas?"

He paused, looked up wide eyed, but relaxed at the slight smile on its' features, felt his own lips twitch slightly in response.

"Good. Now, snap to!"

The Doctor actually laughed, froze instantly. That was the first time in longer than he could remember. The cell, was it? A lifetime ago. It felt good. A weight lifted, for however brief a time.

"Much better." It smiled again, and Nicholas fixed it with a rather sheepish expression, causing it to chuckle lightly.

"Now, the relay attached to the primary conduit- see it? Follow the junction from the resistor nodes…there. Good. Select the third and fourth outputs. You can run an external link through them, they are strong enough to support such a power increase. You will need to retune several crystals in the third quarter hub. If you link them all together and run the power through them as a conjoined whole, there should be no problem. I will start building a path to the power core. There are several layers of defence we need to bypass, but it should not take too much time. A day, perhaps?"

They both settled down to their tasks. This was better. He was working again, productively, successfully. It was a boost he desperately needed. Losing himself in such simple acts was easy, he was hardly unwilling to escape this place even if it was in mind only, and it wasn't until the AIs' voice quietly called him back that he realised he hadn't thought of his current situation once. It was hard to return, but necessary; the single word it spoke sent a fission of fear through him.

"Bug."

He was instantly the good, compliant slave, working unwaveringly to his masters' requirements. He didn't need to greatly change what was on the screen, just hide a few things; they would undoubtedly be interested in any internal layout of the Ancient machine. A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, and then wince in pain as he was pulled round and propelled towards the normal table. He shivered at the sight of the B.O. stood there, watched as it carefully traced the rim of one of the bowls with the tip of a claw, before pushing it towards him. The keeper shoved him onto a stool, rested a hand on either shoulder. Peering carefully into the bowl, he wrinkled his nose. Whatever it was, it was solid. _Animal or vegetable?_ He must have progressed from liquid food now, then. _Animal, I guess…_ it smelt… well, it didn't smell too bad, though he assumed that a week ago it would have been vile. _I'll have to watch that,_ he thought miserably. With all his senses were altered, the crew'd be instantly suspicious if he suddenly decided Beckers' 'potatoes' tasted great. There was no way he was telling anyone that he'd been 'modified', the potential fallout was terrifying; Young'd have a field day with it, probably go bleating straight to the SGC that he'd been compromised, that he wanted him off the ship. That'd get the IOA involved. Well, if the Colonel didn't kill him first, anyway- a 'liability'. Perfectly justifiable. No questions asked. Well, not many, anyway. No great loss.

"What, nae fork?"

The smack to the side of his head made his ears ring. Why did he always manage to forget that the damn things had four arms at the most inconvenient times? _One day, do ya think ye could try _not_ winding them up?_

Gingerly, he picked a piece up with his fingers- meat, he was almost certain- and put it in his mouth. No, it wasn't as bad as it probably should have been, a fact which itself actually made him feel ill. Forcing himself to swallow, he reached for the other bowl which contained, as he'd hoped, liquid. It was a very long meal, and he was sweating by the time he'd finished, from stress, though, rather than a result of the food. They didn't leave, and he squirmed. What were they waiting for?

"Umm…"

Instantly aware that he'd made a mistake in speaking, he winced, but the expected blow didn't come; It squeezed his shoulders, hard enough to make him gasp, but that was easily bearable. _Rather that than run the risk making me puke via concussion_, he supposed. _When am I gonna learn to keep my mouth shut?_

Dumb question. Time passed, inexorably slow, and his confusion turned to worry, as his mind twisted through a number of possibilities, each darker than the last. He was making himself sick with dread.

_Sick…_

Could that be it? Something so simple? Actually, it was most likely, thinking about it- they wanted to ensure the food would stay down. He felt giddy with relief, a feeling which grew when they finally retreated, the Keeper gathering the bowls as It went. Turning, he shakily stood, and made his way back to the A.

"Do I even want to know what I just ate?"

"Probably not." It smiled wryly. "Not that _I_ even know, mind you. Organic, if that helps." It frowned, gaze going distant as it focused its attention elsewhere.

"Ah. That makes sense." At his confused expression, it spoke again. "In the Observation room. They are satisfied that you are able to consume whatever it is that passes for food with them." As he'd suspected. It sighed. "You are, however, now going to be closely observed for the rest of the day; I would advise we continue with our plans tomorrow. Best not make them antsy," it concluded with a smirk.

"Oh, and _stop_ annoying them!"

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

He was tired again, the result of another bad rest periods' sleep. Not food related- that would have been easy. As predicted, a B.O. had been on hand through every meal, and Its presence had been a strain in itself. No, it was music again. He'd lost count of the amount of rest he'd spent with hands tight over his ears, staring off into space. Sometimes he hummed, sometimes he sang, once he'd spent most of the night repeating his latest doctorate ad verbatim. Once he'd wound up screaming, when it had echoed three rest periods in a row and he'd finally snapped.

It was both worse and better now. He could hear much more of it, pitch and depth denied him before, and it resounded through his head, along nerves and senses in a way Terran music didn't- it was considerably different, noticeably more alien, and therefore a large step away from the memories it used to bring. The problem was that he _could_ hear more, and it was distraction enough that it kept him awake.

Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, squinted through a headache at the display before him.

"Today is not suitable." It wasn't a question. He answered in the negative anyway.

"Nicholas?" he looked up. "You do not bear further injuries- severe ones, anyway." There were, after all, always new bruises. "You do not appear jittery, either. You are, however, worryingly morose. Depressed, even. A lack of sleep?"

He hesitated. "Yeah." Its expression turned quizzical. "Their…music. I can't tune it out. Ever. It brings…memories." He broke off, unwilling to go into depth.

"Happier times?" He nodded, then shook his head as it went to speak further.

"Don't. Happier. Better. Gone. Irreclaimable. Leave it alone. Please…"

It waited a long moment, and when it eventually spoke it was on a different subject. "I have created a link to their power core. It is invisible right now, and merely needs to be activated." After a pause it continued. "This delay is just as well, perhaps. I am not sure our original plan to distract them was sufficient. We need something bigger, guaranteed to get their attention."

"Stop trying to sell it to me, would ye? Spit it out"

It frowned again, obviously confused by the colloquial style of speech. Its bafflement made smile slightly, but he was inexplicably pleased when it worked out the meaning.

"Ah. I was procrastinating? I see. My plan is this; I have located the facilities sensors, defences, and alarms. I propose we trick the sensors into believing an enemy fleet, this other race, for instance, has dropped out of hyperspace into the solar system and is approaching planetary orbit."

Once again, the AI had rendered him speechless. _Fuck me…_

It winced, and he realised he'd spoken out loud. "Quite. You approve?" It seemed oddly eager.

"It'll scare the _shit_ out of them. Hell yes!" His voice was scarcely a whisper, he had to clear his throat and take a deep breath before he could speak properly. "But how? I thought their border was a considerable distance from here? They won't buy it, surely."

"Oh, they will," was the grim response, "they won't stop to think. Trust me, they hate them deeply, and the feeling from what I have learnt is mutual. They will not only rise to the threat, they will retaliate with everything they have. We will need to block their communications."

Nicholas nodded. Definitely. If they managed to report a threat that didn't exist, it may will be the trigger for an all out offensive against this other species, who wouldn't have a clue as to the real reason. If the AI was right, and doubtless it was, they would respond in kind and it would instigate an all out war. It could be catastrophic, and he shuddered at the thought of being responsible for such a tragedy.

As it turned out, it wasn't difficult. The AI provided the data, and the Scientist spent most of the day creating a suitable simulation. It was just as well it was trivial, but mind consuming work; he wasn't up to anything complicated, but didn't want his thoughts able to wander. Win-win. Time passed quickly, and baring a few interruptions from the K'rechǽ-v'rass, he was soon being bidden farewell.

"Try and sleep tonight."

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

He had butterflies. Seriously. How weird was that?

"And you've-"

"Yes"

"What about-"

"That too."

"And-"

"Nicholas…" He bit his lip, looked up at the AI to discover it was amused.

"Sorry. It's just…"

"I know."

The worked on in silence, though there was nothing strained about it. Mostly, they tidied their work, double checking what they had done and what lay in preparation. He had re-run through the viral program again, for no better reason than needing to keep his hands busy, when he looked up and found the AI frowning, staring at something behind him. Puzzled, he turned, and his stomach flipped. There, in the observation room, was one of the Three. _Why?_ Its head came round, and it _stared._ Looking hurriedly away, he fought to control his breathing, well aware that he was close to panic.

"Peace. It is here for a progress report."

Peace? Seriously? He swallowed, realised he was shaking. He closed off all his ulterior programs just in case it decided to pay a visit, and went back to logging data onto the Bug systems. There were too many Bugs in the next room for them to do _anything_, and the presence of one of the Three strongly suggested there was a ship in orbit.

Time dragged by, and the Doctors' patience was beginning to wear out. Food came, but he was too jittery to eat, which caused the B.O. consternation. Had something gone wrong? It hovered, flanked by a Keeper. He could _feel_ the Superior watching him intently from the other side of the glass, waiting, and eventually he grew fearful enough of it coming to him personally that he was finally able to choke down a small portion, and keep it down. It was some time before the Bugs left, but by then his nerves were in tatters.

"You are making yourself ill. Calm down."

He tried, he really did, but it wasn't working. He couldn't focus, and ended up sitting at a console, simply staring at it, mind frayed and exhausted. Raising heavy hands, he rubbed at his temples, pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he could relieve the intense headache building behind his eyes.

"It has gone." But it was too late. Hope and determination lay in shreds and he wanted to cry. Even had there been time, he wouldn't have been able to make a break for it then, not given the state he was in.

The day ended in despair.

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

A broken nights' sleep is better than no sleep at all.

_Like Hell._

He felt like shit. The headache lingered, sapping his strength, and he'd already snapped at both the Keepers and the AI in the space of half an hour. The former had dealt him a well deserved blow; the latter had fixed him with a look of resignation and fallen silent. That was three hours before, and he now not only had a headache, still, but he felt guilty as sin on top. He was so tired of apologising. Tired of being in the wrong. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of being wound so tight he bitched at the slightest provocation, deserved or not. God, but he was tired of being tired.

"I'm sorry," he sighed.

The AI echoed the sound. "I know. You are a trial, Nicholas, though that does not mean I do not enjoy your company. You are so completely different from my Alterans, for better or worse, but I fear I often do not know how to react to you. Admittedly, though, I have no idea how one of them would cope in your place." It sighed again. "I do not think today is a good day, either, child."

Crushing weight settled in his chest, and he sagged, bowed down by the depressing knowledge that it was right.

---- --- -- -o0o- -- --- ----

"I have accessed the facilities sensors."

He jumped, stared at it in shock. _What??_

"Close your mouth, and get ready."

On autopilot he jumped to obey. Frantically, his fingers flew across the console, bringing up the Gate-map, subnet access point, and virus. He wasn't ready for this. _Shit. _Was he forgetting something?

'No, sweetheart. You're fine. Calm down.' He took a deep breath, held himself frozen for a moment, then looked up.

"A warning would have been nice."

"You want bells and whistles? Maybe next time. Ready?"

He nodded, nervous anticipation dancing in his belly. _God_, but he felt alive. Blood roared through his veins, even his scalp prickled. Adrenaline shot through his system, numbing various bruises, and the broken fingers he'd earned that morning. He wanted to laugh, wanted to dance, wanted to throw up.

He sent the virus.

Both of them observed as it sank into the unit, beginning its destruction. _Not yet._ Damn, but that was a beautiful bit of programming. It picked up speed, multiplying, spread as far as the firewalls he'd created allowed; tilting his head back, he looked at the AI, who obviously recognised the fever in his eyes, and as a result pursed its lips in gentle admonishment. _Calmly._

There was no stopping him, though. He could _fly._

"Do it."

He had a moment to watch through the hacked feed as the ghost fleet dropped out of hyperspace before all hell broke lose.

It couldn't have been scripted better. The AI took control of communications and deceived the sensors, before setting off the alarms. A teeth-gritting wail resounded through the room, and the ironically typical _'this is not a drill' _automated voice floated through the unseen PA system. _Oh, come on…_

Keepers rushed out, leaving him alone, bar one of them and a B.O. It pointed at him, voice and face twisted in fury.

_Take him to the cell! Stay there!_

Umm…in a moment of panic, he looked up at the AI, before ducking past the Keeper, whose claws raked his upper arm, it was so close, and round the bulk of the unit. The B.O. hissed in anger and frustration, and both approached, passing close enough to the station to brush against it. He backed off.

"Down!"

He dropped limp as an explosion shook the room and bits of the terminal flew over his head. It was just as well he was on the floor; the shockwave would have flattened him. As it was, he was rather singed, and a little deafened. Pushing himself to his knees, he crawled round so he could look at the AI, who itself looked rather stunned. The panels adjacent to each Bug were ripped to shreds, large chunks of the metal work were imbedded in the B.O. which stared blankly at the ceiling. He reached over and prodded it- nothing. Looked back at the AI._ And the other one?_

It looked down where he couldn't see and then back at him with a slight smile. The projection flickered, and it was again all business, though it had to shout for him to hear it.

"Virus!"

Oh. Yeah. He'd forgotten that. Hauling himself to his feet, he staggered back to his console, and dropped the firewalls. It sped out, consuming every trace of Ancient information in the facility, spreading into the sub-net. It was a Hunter, all right, all sleekness and deadly strength. He felt a moment of perfect tranquillity as he watched a piece of his imagination take form and perform the incredible task he had designed it for, soaring with it towards the far flung corners of the sub-net. There was no stopping it. And then he turned, found the Keeper; stripped from It the dialler and Its knife, placing both on the station, before lifting Its gun, which turned out to be irritatingly heavy.

Quickly, they transferred the Gate data to the dialler, and he checked to make sure it was working properly. Unlocking the last bit of programming, he linked the power cores, watched in relief as the AI initiated the overload. Nothing else mattered now. _We did it, we did it, we did it…_

"Nicholas?" He looked up. For a long moment, they simply watched one another, sharing a moment no one else would ever understand, keen to remember, and then it smiled.

"I wish you luck. I will see you soon." He nodded, whispered a thank you, smiled in return, and felt an overwhelming pang of loss as the AI flickered out. Gathering himself, he initiated the spheres separation, watched as the protective sheets folded back; reaching in, he reverently freed it, disconnecting the couplings and cables. Resting it gently to the side, he accessed the bases' Stargate, set a timer to automatically dial his first stop in two minutes, and locked the Bugs out of the system.

He didn't even have the ability to gasp as a tremendous weight slammed him forward into the unit. The sphere rolled off and struck the floor with a sound loud enough for even him to hear. The gun fell from his grip, skittered a few feet across the floor. Hands gripped tightly his shoulders and hair, pain blazed as he felt it rip free, and he was bodily _thrown _across the room. He didn't feel the impact, or falling to the floor; he lay there too stunned to move for several long moments before the fact that the Keeper was making Its way rather laboriously towards him. Arms and legs flopped as he fought to rise; he managed to get to a kneeling position just as it fell on him, gripping his throat.

Time was suspended as he stared into Its' face, contorted in rage, laid bare by the imploded hood. Its broken visage stared out at him from the ruins, a twisted nightmarish mess of rent metal, shredded chitin and oozing blood. He could smell it burning. It was a scene so perfectly crystallised, so frozen in his mind that it would follow him for many years to come. And then It twisted, and he was thrown again, striking the unit in a tangle of heavy, unresponsive limbs. He groaned. Opened his eyes, tried to blink the blood from them. Something…

He focused on it, bent his entire will, even as his body screamed in protest to scrambling across the floor. Grabbing the gun, he raised it, fired. It barely slowed down. Shot again. Eight feet. Five. He screamed in terror and rage, _not now, God damn it all!_ fired shot after shot until, finally, it slumped down, collapsed to the floor at arms length from him.

He slumped, raw and weeping. Shivering violently.

The wail of the alarm drew him back.

Dragging himself up, he scrambled for the knife- slipped in through his belt. The dialler went around his arm. Staggering to the workbench, he slipped his own tools and a couple besides into pockets on his combats; at last, he turned and scooped up the sphere. Chancing to look at the display, he choked.

Three minutes…

Out of the room. Along the corridor. Pause; peer carefully round the corner. Nothing. Run. Keep going. He was running out of time. _He had to make it! _So close.. The shockwave of a blast that knocked the sphere from his grip numbed his arm, spun him about. Burning agony ripped through his left leg as he fell. Raising the gun, he fired blind. Movement caught his attention, and he turned towards it, feral panic driving him to his knees without thought, aiming this time for the hood. _Please…_ It shattered, and he watched in slow motion as the head exploded. All his shock was used up for the day, and he simply stared, dumbly, at the horror he had wrought.

He scrambled for the sphere, managed to force himself upright. He had just enough presence of mind to slip his gun through his belt and grab a second, before he was hobbling off down the corridor.

The Gate-room. There. It was active. _How long do I have?_

Not long enough.

_Run._

'Run, Nick!'

He sped across the floor as fast as his crippled leg would carry him. _Not far, not far. Please… _plasma sizzled past his ear, and he was _through_ falling to grass on the other side. Rolling over onto his back he lay there, half expecting them to follow. He couldn't get up, he_ couldn't…_ didn't have to. An awesome, terrible fireball erupted from the gate, blocked out his view of the sky, screaming in his ears like a banshee- and died as the gate cut off.

_No shit…_

The silence made his ears ring. _I can't…_

'Get up.'

He stared upwards in stunned disbelief.

'Nicholas.'

_And when I die, take me and cut me out in little stars, and I will make the face of heaven so fine, all the world will be in love with night*_

_Beautiful.._

He blinked at the starlight. Felt tears well. How long had it been? _A lifetime, in so many ways, since he'd last felt the starlight…_

-o0o-

_He followed the sound out into the garden, feet cold on the stone path, found her sitting on their bench. Sinking to the grass at her feet, he stared up at her, her adoring servant, not daring to interrupt. Her smile told him she knew he was there._

_She played on, a haunting lilt that echoed out into the fields beyond. He rather imagined all manner of creatures paused to listen, so beautiful was the sound. At last she reached an end, and the final notes lingered on the air._

_He rested his chin on her knee. 'How do you do that?'_

_She smiled that wonderfully mysterious smile he loved so much. 'Magic.'_

_He could well believe it. She rose smoothly, stretched her hands out to him_

'_Dance with me?' He let her pull him to his feet, and they spun slowly, hypnotically out onto the grass, bare feet whispering over the night-dark fibres. _

_She did this often. Played a song no one else knew. Danced to a tune no one else could hear. She may have been a Biologist, but she had the soul of a musician, and carried her own music with her, always, deep inside. He loved this part of her deeply, the wild woman, the dancing maiden. No ones rules but her own._

'_I feel so much closer to everything in the dark, under the stars. Maybe there is magic out here.' He smiled, yes, right here, right now, he could believe it, and if there was it was hers to shape_

'_Pagan,' he whispered, smiling, knew she would understand._

'_Perhaps.' She smiled archly. 'Maybe all women are, so close are we to the cycle of nature, the beat of the Earth herself…'_

_Nights like this… he treasured them._

_They spun once more, before carefully falling to the ground to lie side by side on the grass, fingers entwined, staring up at the stars._

'_Orion'_

'_Cassiopeia' _

'_Lepus'_

'_Big Dipper!' They said together, laughed softly in the dark._

'_Can you imagine it?' She breathed, breaking the silence. 'Other races, out there?'_

'_Hmm, aye. I don't believe we're alone, certainly. Can you imagine going there?'_

'_To the stars? Would you?' She propped herself up on an elbow, studying his profile with curiosity in the half-light. How often did they have conversations like this? She smiled at their flights of fancy. Nights like this…she lived for them._

_He gave the question serious consideration. 'Aye, for sure, but only if you came with me. You n' me, exploring the stars…' Why give diamonds when you could give starlight?_

_She kissed him, gently. 'Romantic…I love you'_

'_I love you too, Mrs. Rush. Always and forever'_

'_Always and forever…'_

-o0o-

'Please…' He stirred. 'Oh, thank God. Time to go, sweetheart'. Had he been here long?

'No, but best to get moving.'

_Moving?_ He frowned.

'Yes love. _Destiny._ Go chase.'

_Oh. Yeah…_ he sat up carefully, wincing and groaning at a whole new catalogue of different pains. _I'm too old for this._ His leg was the worst, pure agony still, but at least his head had mostly dried. He pushed bloodied hair back behind his ears, knowing it would set and stay there, and looked around absently. As his gaze fell upon the sphere gleaming in the half-light, he drew a sharp hiss of breath, remembering. Crawling to it, he rolled it gently; a soft wail of despair was drawn from him as he examined the damage.

_No! Not after all this! _He ghosted fingers across the damaged metalwork and fought back tears. That was _not_ fair. Not after everything.

_I will see you soon…_

_No, you won't, _he thought sadly. Maybe, if he could get it back to _Destiny_. Maybe…

'I'm sorry, love. Please, it's time to go.'

He nodded. Fumbling around for the second gun, he drew it to his lap. Twisting the dialler round, he activated it, scrolling through the information stored there.

Looking up at the mighty structure, he dialled the first Gate.

------ ----- ---- --- -- - o0o - -- --- ---- ----- ------

*Shakespeare. He rocks.

Well, that's it, folks :) I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have! Wow, you know, it's been great writing this. I've loved it, even the moments I've spent banging my head against the wall. It's been serious fun, and I'm thrilled ya'll have stuck with me through it.

I hope I've managed to answer any questions that have been lingering, although I have to confess to thelasteddis that I myself am still undecided as to nature of the Bugs as a whole. Both ideas work; 1) a completely xenophobic race who see every other species as either a stepping stone or a waste of space, or 2) a race who have themselves been misguided and misinformed by the ruling military cast. I guess if I get to revisit them I'll have to make up my mind! I like both ideas, it's gonna be hard to choose. Although, even if they do turn out to be the most hostile race in this galaxy, there is no reason why both ideas _still _couldn't work. It's annoying, but I'll figure it out eventually!

If there are still questions nagging you, let me know, and I'll answer them. I have not plot-spoilers to hide now, so you'll get a proper answer!

I hope you'll have liked my take on Rush, too. (thanks Mr. Evil!) it's been fun working with him (not that he'd agree) but getting him to play nice has sometimes been a bit of a mission. I find him bribable, though *smirks* he has been both a pleasure and a frustration to write, and I have greatly enjoyed the chance to delve into his character. I've also found writing this fic to be an interesting study of human nature, particularly his own opinion on things, some of which actually differ from mine. That was difficult, though again, fun. It's also been very interesting the different things you, the readers, have picked up on, what has drawn you and what has grabbed your attention, for better or worse. What you have liked and disliked, what has made you go 'bleurgh!' and what has left you head-scratching (I know I'm doing good when ya'll can't figure out where I'm going! Something I've desperately wanted to avoid is predictability) Many of your comments have not only been deeply insightful, but helpful and influential in shaping particular aspects of upcoming chapters

Proper reviews to C5 and C6 I'll do tomorrow, when I've slept! Please, if anyone happens to spot any errors, let me know, and I'll amend. I can't believe I've written this in less than 3 days, so there's bound to be some, though I have reread it a couple of times as I've gone, just to make sure it works.

Thank you for reading. Thank you especially for reviewing. Thank you for staying with me for the ride. It's been swell, and there will be future fics. I'm going to continue with this arc, I think, even though I know it's now AU, and I'll write some canon too, where I think I can slip something in. The antagonism between Rush and Young, while popular with writers, possesses huge potential, and I don't think it'll be getting old any time soon- I daresay I'll dabble there at some point. It's gonna make for nail biting viewing, seeing where they go from here.

Thanks again folks. This is not goodbye…


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